


Chasing Rollercoasters

by halfsweet



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Angst, Childhood Friends, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wet Dream, tally mark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 10:55:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9488060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: AU in which every time a person falls in love, a red line like a tally mark appears on their wrist. Imagine the tally marks turning black if their love is requited.-It's hard when everyone around him has at least one black line on their wrists while he's the only one with a single red line. Brendon can only keep his feelings for his best friend under the radar for so long before everything starts to blow up in his face.And it doesn't help that his best friend is already in a relationship with someone else.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WHO'S READY FOR ANOTHER LONG RIDE ON THE BRENTRICK ROLLERCOASTER
> 
> Wow okay so for those who have read my fics, you know I'm always a sucker for pining!Brendon. So, instead of those small bits I snuck in here and there, I give you The Ultimate™ Pining fic!
> 
> Before you get started, pick your poison (if you want!):
> 
> a) Wake Me Up by Ed Sheeran  
> b) Up All Night by Charlie Puth  
> c) Imagination by Shawn Mendes  
> d) Roses by Shawn Mendes  
> e) Like This by Shawn Mendes
> 
> (I highly recommend the last three! Especially Roses! And Like This!)
> 
> Title taken from Panic! At The Disco's Far Too Young To Die.

"No, mom. It's just a small cold." Brendon croaks out into his phone, wincing when his throat feels like it's being scratched by sharp claws. He pulls the cover over him and rolls on his side, coughing. "Besides, Patrick's here taking care of me. So you don't have to worry about anything."

 _"Okay, if Patrick's there, then I suppose I have nothing to worry about."_  Brendon rolls his eyes, but then breaks out into a small coughing fit again. _"Tell him I said hi. Make sure to eat your medicine. Get a lot of rest. Eat your food, drink your-"_

"Mom." He groans, voice nasal. Stupid stuffed nose. "Okay. I'll tell him you said hi. I'm gonna go now."

He immediately ends the call before his mom can hear a different set of coughing fit. He sets his phone on the nightstand and laughs, or tries to, because the moment he opens his mouth, he coughs again.

Patrick's head peeks out from under the cover, his hair disheveled, tip of his nose red and face flushed, his phone pressed next to his ear. "I'll be okay, mom. Brendon's here to take care of me."

"No, I know it's stupid to play in the rain. Mom- it's- it's just a little _drizzle_ -" Patrick becomes quiet, his face twisting into a scowl and a pout, and Brendon grins at him. His mom's probably going off on a rant on him.

This isn't the first time that this happens. Both of them catching a bad case of cold after playing in the rain - Patrick called it a _little drizzle_ , but they both know it's a _fucking downpour._  Then, so as to not get their mothers worried, they'd cover for each other.

They've done it since they moved out into the city. He knows that despite he and Patrick are both adults, 24 and 27 respectively, their mothers still worry over them like they were 5 and 8.

Brendon loves his mother and Patrick's so very much, God bless their kind-hearted souls, but they worry too much. He knows it's largely due to the fact that they're both the youngest in their families. He remembers the first time they both got a cold in the city, and when their mothers found out, they drove all the way to their apartment, taking care of them until they're pink in health again.

Well, at least that cured their homesickness.

"Yeah- okay- fine- medicine, sure. Lots of rest. Yeah, I'll tell him. Bye, mom. Love you." Patrick places his phone next to him and sighs, then lets out a nasally whine. "I hate blocked nose."

"You and I both." Brendon agrees, snuggling back under the cover. "Mom said hi."

Patrick mumbles something unintelligible before coughing. "Y- Yeah. Mom said hi too."

There's a moment of silence between them before Brendon speaks again. "The rain was worth it, though."

"Hell yeah it was."

They break out into small giggles which instantly turns into whooping coughs. "Okay, okay. No talking. Let's just sleep," Patrick says, his voice croaky. He pulls the cover up to his chin and rolls on his side, facing the wall.

Brendon watches as Patrick's body rises and falls slowly, indicating that he's already fallen asleep. He looks to the small gap between them and feels his heart sinking.

He wants to put his arms around Patrick and cuddle with him. Hold him close. But he knows he can't.

Not when Patrick's happily in a relationship with someone else.

He heaves out a sigh and stares at the strawberry-blond mess that Patrick calls his hair. He wishes that Patrick's still living together with him and that he doesn't move out to live with Pete.

It's lonely when there's no one else around in the apartment beside him. Took him a while to get used to it, even. He moved into Patrick's room and turned his own room into a mini studio. Kept all his guitars and keyboards and other musical instruments there. At least it kept his loneliness at bay.

But he hadn't counted on the possibility that Patrick would sleep over every once in a while.

The first time it happened, Brendon insisted that Patrick would sleep on the bed, and that he'd sleep on the couch. But Patrick just laughed at him and pulled him on the bed with him before he promptly fell asleep after.

Brendon knows Patrick doesn't mind about them sleeping together on the same bed. They'd done it before when they were kids. But that was different.

He wasn't in love with Patrick then.

He sighs and rolls on his side, facing away from his sleeping best friend. "Get well soon."

-

"You know, I've been wondering why you didn't join Dallon's band." Patrick suddenly voices out when they're waiting in the line to get into the club where Dallon's band, The Brobecks, is performing. Brendon is proud of his tall friend, who finally got his first gig after all his hard work.

Besides, he and Spencer are getting tired of getting dragged to the band's practice and having to give comments after every. Single. Song.

"Oh?" His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline in surprise at Patrick's question.

"Yeah." Patrick nods as he moves along up the line before looking up at him. "I mean, there's nothing you can't play. So, why didn't you?"

Brendon looks at him, mouth curled up in amusement. "Are you sure you're not talking about yourself?"

Patrick elbows him on the side. "We're talking about _you_ here. So?"

"I don't know. Ask my anxiety." Brendon perks up when they're finally at the front of the line. The bouncer lets them both in, and he can feel the bass from the music that's blasting from the speakers beating in tandem with his heart, the energy from everyone flowing in his body. With a grin, he grabs Patrick's hand and leads them through the crowd to get to backstage.

He spots Dallon and his band setting their equipment up and going through the setlist. He walks up to them and slings his arm around Dallon's shoulders, greeting him.

It's a little difficult, what with Dallon being, like, a head taller than him.

"Brendon!" Dallon beams, then his eyes shift to Patrick. "Patrick! Thank you so much for coming!"

"Of course we'd come." Brendon scoffs as he releases his arm around Dallon and bounces back to Patrick. Then, he looks around. "Where's Spence? Is he here yet?"

"Yeah, he was here ten minutes ago." Dallon adjusts the string on his guitar while replying him. "He's probably at the booth with the others."

"Guess we'll head back out front then. Good luck, man." He pats Dallon on the back, his eyes gazing longingly at all the instruments laid out as Patrick's words are replayed in his mind. He'd love to play and sing on stage, but anxiety is constantly screaming at the back of his mind every time he even so much as thinks of performing.

"Good luck, Dallon." Patrick grins and hugs the taller man, and Brendon can't help laughing at them. Everyone knows Patrick's a hugger, and just seeing him hugging Dallon is hilarious at the same time amusing. For one, their height difference is painfully obvious, even to a blind man on the moon.

He drags Patrick back to the front and brings him to the bar, ordering drinks for both of them.

"Try not to get wasted until _after_ Dallon's band gets off the stage." Patrick teases him before they both take a sip of their drinks.

"Oh, please." Brendon snorts and pokes him on the nose, then laughs when the other man wrinkles his nose, his lips pursed in annoyance. "You drink just as much as I do."

"But tonight _I'm_ the designated driver. So _less_ drink for me." Patrick pokes him back on the chest. Brendon sees Patrick looking past behind him, his eyes widening with a smile, stirring his curiosity. He looks over his shoulder and frowns. _Of course._

Patrick pats him on the arm, smiling up at him apologetically. "Talk to you later, B."

Brendon watches as Patrick walks up to Pete, his smile getting wider as he gets closer to the older man before he's being pulled into a kiss. Brendon looks away, fingers clenched tight around the glass he's holding, chest burning in jealousy.

He's happy for his best friend. He really is. He's never seen Patrick any happier than when he's with Pete, but he wishes that Patrick would look at him the same way for once. He wants to be the source of his happiness. He wants to make Patrick's eyes light up when he sees him. He wants to make Patrick's heart go fast when they accidentally brush their hands against each other.

But, of course, the universe has always hated him.

He calls for the bartender, signaling for another drink. Why be sad when there are alcohol and hot guys and girls all around? He downs the whole shot in one go and thanks the bartender before strutting to the dance floor.

The least he can do right now is get himself shitfaced, and maybe, if he's lucky, get himself laid.

Anything to get rid of the feeling in his chest.

-

Dallon's band is already up on the stage, rocking the club house down, and everyone's dancing along and having fun to their songs. Except for Brendon.

He's tried, okay, _keyword: tried_ , to forget all about Patrick and Pete when he's on the dance floor. He's got a bunch of pretty girls hanging off on his arms, flirting with him, him flirting back, and he even got a few phone numbers from guys and girls, but _nothing_ can beat the feeling of seeing his best friend making out with his boyfriend at one of the booths.

He needs a break. Fresh air. Just somewhere away from the crowd and the noise inside the club. He curves his way through the bodies, out the door, and into the back alley. Leaning back against the brick wall, he finally breathes in the cool night air, his shoulders dropping in relaxation as the calmness of the night rains over him, cleaning away the mess in his head.

He slides his hand into his pocket, taking a box of cigarette and a lighter out. He puts one cigarette between his lips and lights it up, keeping the two items back in his pocket, and inhales the smoke deeply, the nicotine clinging on the back of his throat and lungs.

Then, he blows the smoke out in a ring, watching it fly above the air before disappearing, smiling as it does so. It's strange; the one thing that has the potential to kill him is also the one thing that can make him feel calm.

Not many people know about his smoking habit; he makes sure no one does. He'd only smoke when he's alone or when he has no other plans to meet with his friends. If he does have plans to meet with his friends, he'd take a long shower and spray as much cologne as he can on his body, then take a few mints before he goes out.

The only people that really know about it are his two exes, Ryan and Sarah, and of course-

"Brendon Urie."

Brendon raises his eyebrows when Patrick scowls up at him. Before he can ask why, Patrick plucks the cigarette from between his lips and throws it on the ground, then stomps on it to put it out. "Cigarettes are bad for your lungs, B. You can get lung cancer-"

Patrick begins to go on a rant, but all his words fall onto deaf ears. Brendon stares at him, his heart pounding, as he recalls the feeling of Patrick's fingers grazing his lips.

His fingers are not smooth, that's for sure. They're rough from the countless times he plays his guitar, but they have that small hint of gentleness behind it. He can imagine the way it would feel having Patrick's hand in his, their fingers laced together. His thumb would brush against his knuckles before he'd bring his hand up for a kiss…

"Are you listening to a word I said?" Patrick hits him on the shoulder. Brendon shakes his head, breaking himself out of his daydream, and finds Patrick looking all kinds of pissed off.

"Yes." Brendon answers quickly, his back shooting up straight as he pushes himself away from the wall. Shit, there's no fooling around when Patrick's mad.

Patrick's eyes narrow at him. "What did I say?"

"Um, cigarettes are bad?" Brendon guesses and holds his breath. Patrick, no matter how small he is, has some strength in him, though, it's nothing he can't handle. He himself works out every week, and he definitely has some muscle strength over Patrick, but he likes to pretend that he's in pain every time Patrick punches him.

It's cute when Patrick goes from I'm-gonna-punch-you-to-the-depths-of-hell to holy-smokes-I'm-so-sorry-are-you-hurt-let-me-get-some-ice.

"And yet you keep doing it." Patrick's grumpy expression brings a smile on his face. Really adorable. Then, a thought comes across his mind. "What are you doing out here?"

"I saw you heading out, and I just want to make sure you're okay," Patrick says, his expression screaming concern. Brendon smiles, feeling comforted at the fact that Patrick is worried about him enough that he's willing to leave Pete for a few minutes to check on him. "I'm fine. Everything just got too crowded, so I left."

"Yeah, I get what you mean." Patrick smiles and moves to stand next to him, leaning up against the wall and looking up at the dark sky above. "That's one of the reasons why I follow you out back here."

Brendon doesn't bother to hide his widening grin. He's just happy that Patrick's here with him. He mirrors Patrick's earlier action, their shoulders now pressed together. "And here I thought it's because you missed me."

"If that's what you want to believe, then sure." Patrick smirks at him, his eyes glinting with playfulness under the bright moonlight. Brendon laughs softly, shoving him lightly with his shoulder as a comfortable silence settles between them.

It's nice, because it's just the two of them out here in the open. Staring up at the sky. Watching the twinkling stars. It brings him back to their childhood, where they would camp out at each other's backyards. One week, they'd camp out at Patrick's backyard, and the next, they'd camp out at his. Sometimes their siblings would join them, and it's even more fun when there were more people around because they'd stay up till late night telling horror stories.

Both his brothers and Patrick's brother always made sure to tell the scariest stories every time they joined. And then he and Patrick would act all brave, but in the end, even when they're holding each other tight, they couldn't sleep because they were terrified of what might lurk around outside their tent when everyone else was already sleeping.

He lets out a small chuckle. What he wouldn't give to relive his childhood memories back.

"What?" Patrick asks, amused and curious. Brendon shakes his head, a smile spreading on his lips. "Just remembering the time when we'd camp out in the backyard."

Patrick grins at that. "I hate my brother for it. I still have nightmares from all the stories he'd told."

"That's still okay. My brothers won't let go of that time when they scared us and I _peed_ my pants off." Brendon scrunches up his face in displeasure at the memory, but Patrick laughs until he's doubling over. "Oh god. We _both_ peed our pants off. I think you even cried a little."

The sound of their combined laughter pierces through the chilly night, and, as they continue to reminisce their childhood memories together, all his thoughts about Patrick and Pete making out are pushed to the back of his mind before disappearing altogether.

-

"So? How was it?"

Brendon sighs and pushes his glasses up, then shares an exasperated glance with Spencer before both of them look at Dallon. "For the millionth time, Dal, The Brobecks did _awesome._ You don't have to worry about anything."

"I know, I know." Dallon smiles sheepishly, his hand flying up to comb his hair, and relaxes. "I just want to make sure."

"Patrick liked it." Brendon chimes in, picking up his muffin and nibbling on it.

Spencer snorts. "You snuck out in the middle of the set. Patrick, too."

He can feel a blush starting to form on his face, embarrassed at having caught, and just as he opens his mouth to retort with something, Dallon throws a small pillow at him, glaring. "You _snuck out_ in the middle of my set? Not cool, Brendon."

"No!" Brendon denies around the muffin he shoved in his mouth. He takes a large bite of it and throws the rest of the muffin to Spencer, who catches the flying snack with his hand. "It got too fucking crowded, man. You know how we feel about that."

"You two remind me so much of an old couple." Spencer sighs, placing the half-eaten muffin on the table in front of them. And, really, surrounded by his friends, Brendon hopes that none of them catches the blush on his face. Just the thought of him and Patrick as a couple sends a tingle up and down his spine.

"Hey, speaking of _couple._ " Dallon smirks and wiggles his eyebrows. Brendon groans and pulls his sleeve over his fingers to cover the red line on his wrist. "No. For the last time, I am _not_ telling you who it is."

"Come on, dude." Spencer urges, kicking Brendon's foot lightly. "Just tell us who it is. We won't tell anyone."

Dallon nods eagerly and makes a cross against his chest. "Cross our hearts and hope to die."

Brendon gives them a look, then gazes at the mark on the inside of his wrist, contemplating. He has never told anyone who the red line is for, not even when he dated Ryan and Sarah. He'd thought that by dating other people, he can get over his little crush - affection, love, _whatever_ \- on his best friend.

It doesn't work, unfortunately.

Ryan was devastated when he accidentally found the red line on his wrist after a year of being together. Brendon felt bad, he really did, and still does, because he kept seeing Ryan gazing at his own red line when he's alone.

He knew the red line on Ryan's wrist was for him, and he could literally feel the heartbreak in Ryan's eyes as the other stared at the same red line marking his wrist.

Before he could explain everything, Ryan had calmly asked him who it was, and the question seemed hard for him to answer. He couldn't push the word, the answer, _the name_ , out of his mouth.

_"I'm sorry." He told Ryan before they both parted ways._

_Ryan shook his head and opened his mouth. "Don't be. Just- I have to ask. How long have you had it?"_

_"I-" Brendon bit his lip. "Before we met. Long before."_

_"Oh." Ryan's eyes widened, surprised. "That's…" He trailed off, speechless. Brendon would, too. He couldn't remember just how long he'd been pining over his best friend._

_Brendon cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah."_

_Ryan gave a little smile, bittersweet. "I hope it turns black one day."_

And yet, here he is, two years after his break up with Ryan, still single with the same old red line on his wrist.

"Nah. I'll just keep this one to myself," he says to his friends and laughs when they whine simultaneously.

"I bet he told Patrick who it is." Dallon looks at Spencer, grinning. "Maybe we can get him to tell us."

Brendon interrupts Spencer before he can answer. "Okay, you know what, if I didn't tell Patrick, what makes you think I'm going to tell you two?" He sticks his tongue out playfully.

"Wait. You mean Patrick doesn't know?" Dallon's mouth falls open, Spencer following the same. Brendon grins at the looks on their faces. "I told you I'm keeping this one to myself."

"Fine. Go ahead and keep secrets from us." Spencer throws him a small pillow, in which he dodges unsuccessfully. He covers his face with his hands as his friends begin to pelt him with seemingly endless supplies of pillows. Eventually, he raises both his hands in surrender and lets the last two pillows hit him square in the face. He's never been really good at dodging games anyway.

Like dodging his feelings for Patrick.

-

"What are we doing here again?" Brendon asks as he stands in the middle of an old and dusty bookstore that they found while walking down the streets. It's one of those days again where he and Patrick would spend the day together, and while he won't admit it to anyone, he does miss Patrick. Terribly.

They haven't seen each other in, like, _18 hours._

"What's the harm in just looking around?" Patrick answers simply, and he walks over to a bookshelf a few rows down, taking out a book and turning it over. Brendon shrugs and walks to a different bookshelf, scanning the spine of the books for something out of the ordinary until one captures his attention.

The spine is blank, devoid of any words or letters, as opposed to others, which have the titles typed across them. He tugs on the top of the spine, pulling it out from where it's being sandwiched by two other thick books. Dust flies out and tickles his nose, making him sneeze.

After rubbing his nose, he opens the nameless book to the middle, skipping through the yellowed pages. Poems after poems were printed on the pages; some short, some long. He stops at one page, deciding to read through the book until Patrick finishes with his _'looking around'._

_and if you don't_  
_like me, as i do you;_  
_i understand._

_because who would_  
_really choose_  
_a daisy in a field of roses?_

For some reason, the poem just hits home, _hard._ Right in the feels. Straight to the heart.

Because he knows the feeling all too well.

"'Daisy in a field of roses'?" Patrick reads out loud from his right as he leans in to take a closer look at the book. Brendon holds in his breath, cursing mentally as the intoxicating scent from Patrick's cologne attacks his nostrils.

He smells _so good_ that Brendon has to resist from burying his face in his best friend's neck and sniffing him out there in the open. He shakes his head, returning back to reality when he realizes Patrick is in the middle of saying something.

"-I'd choose daisy, yeah."

It's unfair. Patrick is wrong for saying that. He picked a fucking rose in a field of fucking roses. He's holding a fucking metaphorical rose that he himself picked in that field.

He's dating a fucking rose, while the damn daisy is left behind on the ground, crushed and stomped flat.

He doesn't even see the damn daisy that's been right _there_ under his nose the whole damn time.

Brendon stops himself from getting worked up about it. None of this is Patrick's fault, but he just can't help feeling bitter. Jealous.

"Of course." Brendon mutters as he closes the book and places it back on the shelf before Patrick decides to read more of the poem. "Just so you know, I'd pick you over any flowers, anytime."

Patrick laughs merrily, his mouth wide open with a smile, and his heart just clenches in pain.

Patrick's a blooming rose in his eyes.

But in Patrick's, he's just an ordinary daisy.

-

"Starbucks?" Brendon asks as soon as they get into his car. Patrick makes a noise at the back of his throat and scrunches up his nose, which makes him laugh. "Oh, come on. You love Starbucks."

"I love Starbucks, but I don't like the server." Patrick purses his lips and crosses his arms in front of his chest, an exact image of a child that just got his toy taken away from him. Brendon grins at the sight and starts the engine. "Okay, I'll bite. What did he do to you? Want me to teach him a lesson?"

"I'm not short." Patrick grumbles, and Brendon bursts into laughter at that. He lost count on how many people giving them strange looks when he stands next to Patrick. Their height difference is one of the things that he loves about them.

"No." Brendon agrees, still smiling. "You're not short. But you _are_ adorable."

Patrick gives him an unimpressed look. "Just start driving."

"You're so bossy." Brendon mutters under his breath, but he's already pulled the car out of the parking lot. Patrick glares at him for the remark and slaps him on the shoulder. "I'm not bossy."

"Sorry, _honey._ " He glances at the older man from the corner of his eyes, a smile tugging on his lips when Patrick's face falters just the slightest, clearly trying to hide his laughter. Brendon grins. He loves it when Patrick's pretending to be angry.

He places a hand on Patrick's knee and pouts. "Come on, babe. We'll just go to another cafe. My treat. What do you say?"

"Any food I want? Any drink I want?"

"As many as you want, babe."

Patrick bursts into a small laughter and shakes his head. "Well then, baby, just make sure you have enough money on you, because I am _famished._ "

He pulls his hand and places it back on the steering wheel, no matter how much he doesn't want to. This isn't the first time that they've had this kind of banter. Brendon likes it as much as he hates it. He likes it because he gets to pretend that they're a couple, even in those short few minutes, with Patrick casually calling him _'baby'_ or _'sweetheart'_ and other loving pet names.

But he also hates it because it breaks his heart that everything isn't real.

"Anything you want, babe." Brendon murmurs to himself, quiet enough that Patrick doesn't seem to hear it.

They arrive at the cafe after a twenty-minute drive, and Brendon is endlessly glad for the empty parking spot. He doesn't want to go around wasting his time to find for an empty one.

Patrick gets out of the car first, not really waiting for him as he enters the cafe. Brendon obediently follows from behind after he's locked his car and smiles at his enthusiasm. Patrick has always had a sweet tooth.

"Hey, strawberry, wait up!" Brendon calls him, grinning when Patrick shoots him a dirty look. "Don't call me that."

"Do you want me to call you blondie instead?"

"No, thank you." Patrick glares at him and grabs a tray by the arrays of neatly arranged display cases filled with assorted pastries. "Go buy us a drink. I want a chai latte with a caramel shot. Iced. Venti."

"Do I still have to pay for the pastries?"

Patrick opens the first display case with croissants in it and turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. "Do you even have to ask?"

"Yeah. Kinda hoping it was a no." He sighs, shoulders slumped, and goes to the counter and orders their drinks. After paying for their drinks, and while waiting for them to get done, he strolls back to Patrick with his half-filled tray of pastries.

"Are you sure you can finish all those?" Brendon asks, eyeing the _four, five, six_ pastries on the tray. Patrick hums, nodding his head frantically. "I haven't had pastries for, like, a couple of weeks now. Strange as it may sound, but I'm actually craving for them."

"Oh!" Patrick exclaims, and Brendon feels a rush of butterflies in his chest when he sees the way his eyes light up in excitement. "Can we have cinnamon rolls?"

"Sure." Brendon answers, then, an idea comes into his mind. He waits until Patrick has placed two pieces of the pastry onto the tray to open his mouth. "You know what I've always wondered about cinnamon rolls?"

Patrick, already scanning for more pastries, asks. "What?"

"The glaze on the rolls."

"It's just sugar, Bren. What's there to wonder about?"

Brendon places a hand on his chin, pretending to look thoughtful. "How can you be so sure that it's sugar and not, y'know, _something else?_ I mean, they look the same. Are you even sure _that's_ sugar?"

Patrick's shoulders go tense, and he slowly straightens his back. Brendon can almost see the gears turning in his head as Patrick's face twists in disgust. "Oh my god. Brendon, you _dick._ "

"What?" Brendon blinks innocently, although he's having a hard time not laughing when Patrick is standing there, looking like he's having an internal debate with himself on whether or not to put the rolls back in the display case.

"I was just curious." He shrugs, then goes to check other pastries. "I could be wrong. Maybe it's just sugar after all."

" _Brendon._ " Patrick whines as he places the cinnamon rolls back. "I hate you. You just ruined every pastries with glaze for me."

"No, you don't. You love me." Brendon retorts back and bats his eyelashes, then laughs when Patrick shoves him. The action causes him to stumble on his feet, but he manages to get himself balanced, although the same thing can't be said to the waiter whom he accidentally bumps into.

The waiter, holding a tray of beverages, trips and spills the drinks all over the front of Patrick's shirt, which makes the tray Patrick's holding drop to the floor, the pastries scattering near their feet. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" The waiter apologizes, pulling a cloth out of his apron and wiping the spills on Patrick's shirt.

"No, it's okay." Patrick's face is pulled into a grimace, and from the tray, Brendon sees that most of the beverages are hot ones.

"Where's the restroom?" Brendon asks the waiter. He points to a direction in the back, still stunned, and Brendon grabs Patrick by the elbow to the restroom. Once inside, he turns on the tap and lifts Patrick's shirt up, earning a protest from the other.

A small portion of his skin has already turned pinkish red, and when he traces over the inflammed area, Patrick hisses in pain. "Keep your shirt up." Brendon instructs him up as he tugs a long stream of tissue from the dispenser before wetting it under the running water, then places it gently over the reddish skin.

"Does it still hurt?"

"A little." Patrick mutters, his hand replacing Brendon's to hold the wet tissue against his skin. Brendon takes a step back to lean against the sink and sighs, one hand raking through his hair to ease his nerves. Even though it's just a minor burn, it feels like it's something more. Something so intense that gets his heart racing like crazy and adrenaline flooding through his veins like water bursting from the dam.

And hidden underneath all the adrenaline, he can feel a small bullet of guilt being shot point-blank to his heart.

He's the one who tripped the waiter. If he didn't, then the waiter wouldn't have tripped and spilled the drinks all over Patrick, and Patrick wouldn't have suffered from a first-degree burn. They wouldn't be in the restroom pressing a wet tissue to his injury waiting for it to go down.

"Hey, it's not your fault." Patrick's soft voice breaks him out of his thoughts. Brendon looks at him, sorry written all over his face.

"Brendon, honestly, it's not your fault." Patrick repeats himself and squeezes his shoulder. "Look, it's just a small burn."

He lifts the wet tissue to show his pink skin, not as red as it had been minutes ago. "I'm fine. See?"

"Still…" Brendon bites his bottom lip, worry filling him.

"I'll be fine." Patrick assures him as he throws the tissue into the trash can and pulls his shirt down. "Just get the drinks. We'll order pizza and eat at your place."

There's a large dark stain on his light shirt, obvious from even a mile away. Brendon shrugs his jacket off and hands it to Patrick, who immediately puts it on without hesitation, zipping it up just until it covers the stain. A small part of him roars in possessiveness at the sight of his best friend wearing his jacket. "I'll wait in the car. Give me your keys."

Brendon gives him the keys wordlessly. Even in this condition, he wonders how Patrick can still sound bossy.

When they finally make their way out of the restroom, Patrick heads straight for the door and exits the cafe. Brendon sighs at his retreating back, the guilt never really dissipating even after the reassurance that Patrick gave him, and walks to the counter to grab their drinks.

Then, seeing the pastries on the floor, he takes out a twenty from his wallet and hands it to the cashier. "For those pastries." He gestures vaguely to the mess. "Keep the change."

"Hey, man, I'm so sorry about what happened." The same waiter approaches him, his hands fiddling nervously with his apron. Brendon shakes his head and smiles at him. "It's fine. It's partly my fault too."

The waiter looks up at him in relief, probably because he doesn't get yelled at. "Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry too."

Brendon chokes on his spit. "My- _what-_ "

"I have to go. Once again, I'm really sorry." The waiter pats his arm and scurries off to a table to take their orders. Brendon, with two drinks in each of his hand, feels heat creeping up his neck.

_"Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry too."_

_Boyfriend._

Really? Do they look like a couple of boyfriends in the eyes of others?

He walks back to his car with a spring in his step and a grin etched across his face, the word _'boyfriend'_ still echoing and bouncing in his ear and in his mind. Is it okay to feel giddy when someone thought that you and your best friend are a couple?

Come to think of it, he wonders just how many strangers have thought that about them whenever they go out.

"Hey, what's with the smiley face?" Patrick asks as he takes his drink from Brendon's hand.

"Nothing." Brendon tries to stifle his smile, but he can feel it fighting and stretching from ear to ear. "Let's go back, strawberry."

Patrick scoffs. "Just start driving, chocolate."

-

When they've reached his apartment - Brendon still considers it _their_ apartment - Patrick goes straight to the bathroom to shower, no doubt. Brendon knows his towel is still in the bathroom, so he sits in the living room, watching a sitcom on the television while waiting for the other to finish showering so they can order pizza.

"Bren?"

He turns around when his name is being called, and the sight that greets him leaves his mouth hanging.

"Can I borrow a shirt? I washed mine, and-"

Patrick is there. Holy shit. Patrick is _there_ in front of him, shirtless. _Shirtless._ With only a towel wrapped around his waist.

_And shirtless._

_With only a towel around his waist._

Of all the 24 years that they've known each other, this is the _first_ time that he's seen Patrick shirtless. Patrick, with his milky white skin and a small patch of red from the burn earlier and his soft-looking tummy and _fuckfuckfuck his pink nipples. Holy shit._  He just wants to run his hands and mouth all over those skin, see how soft it feels, how good it tastes.

See how Patrick reacts to all his touches. Small whimpers, loud cries, breathy moans, soft mewls. _"Ah- B- Brendon…"_

He quickly snaps himself out of it and wipes his mouth. Fuck, did he really just drool? He clears his throat, standing up to go to his bedroom. "Y- Yeah. Let me go get one."

Thankfully, Patrick doesn't notice his weird behaviour, or if he does, he doesn't call him out on it. He grabs the first shirt that he finds in his drawer and walks back out, handing it to Patrick, who is sitting on the armrest, absorbed on the show on the television.

"Oh, thanks." The older man mumbles absent-mindedly as he wears the shirt, still focused on the television. The towel is still wrapped around his waist, and when Patrick shifts in his seat, Brendon can see a glimpse of his pale thighs.

The room suddenly feels too hot for him, and he tugs on his collar to breathe. "So, uh, pizza?"

"Yeah, yeah. Any topping is fine." Patrick waves his hand and shushes him. "Just keep it quiet. I really like this show."

He grabs his phone and moves to the kitchen. Then, after making sure that he's out of Patrick's sight, opens the sink tap and splashes water on his face.

It's going to be a long day for him.

-

_He's sitting in the living room, alone on the one-seater couch, the room dim and only illuminated by the moonlight passing through the window. Confused and unsure of what to do, he makes a motion to get up, but his body immediately goes tense when he feels a hand slide down his chest, forcing him back down on the couch._

_"Where are you going, baby?" A smooth, sultry voice comes from behind him, and a pair of soft lips trails along his neck. Brendon's breath hitches in his throat. "Patrick?"_

_Patrick lets out a small hum before walking around the couch to sit in his lap, continuing his previous action of leaving kisses on his neck. "Just relax, baby. I'm going to make you feel so good."_

_"Yeah?" Brendon raises an eyebrow as the other man begins peppering kisses along the side of his jaw. Patrick hums again, pulling back a little, his pupils dark and filled with want and lust. The sight is more than enough to get his blood flowing south. "Go ahead. Take my shirt off."_

_He raises his hand to the top button, toying with it and never taking his eyes off the older man. "What happens then?"_

_A coy smile spreads on Patrick's pink lips, and he leans in close, their lips almost brushing against one another. "Why don't you find out?"_

_Not breaking his gaze from the other man, he takes his time to unfasten the buttons from the top to bottom, letting his fingers graze against the soft skin at every movement. He pushes the shirt off his shoulders when he's done and watches it slide down to his elbows and to the floor, mesmerized by the whiteness of the skin. He runs his palms over his bare chest and twirls his nipple between his fingers, feeling Patrick pressing into his touch and moaning, and he leans over to place a kiss on his neck._

_Patrick pushes him back gently when his lips are just a breath away, and, with the same coy smile still present on his face, he places a finger under Brendon's chin, tilting his head up. "What about my pants?"_

_His hands go the button of his jeans, undoing it and unzipping with one smooth movement, and when Patrick lifts his hips up, he pulls the jeans down, leaving him in his boxers with a very obvious bulge._

_"One more, baby." Patrick purrs in his ear, his fingers tangled in his hair. "Then you'll get your present."_

_He hooks his fingers over the waistband of his boxers, slowly sliding it down until it's finally off, the blond man now sitting stark naked in his lap. Patrick trails his hand over the leather jacket he's wearing before pushing it off his shoulders, his eyes and smile playful, and puts it on himself._

_"Just relax, okay, baby?" He kneels down on the floor between his legs, nothing covering him except for Brendon's jacket, his hands traveling upwards until they reach the buckle of his belt, undoing it._

_Brendon leans back in his seat, keeping his eyes on Patrick, who is dutifully unbuttoning his jeans. He lets out a low groan when Patrick teases him through his jeans before tugging on the zipper. Patrick licks his lips and pushes both his jeans and boxers down enough to free his hard cock._

_Patrick opens his mouth and breathes over him, his tongue sticking out to lick the underside. A guttural groan escapes the back of his throat, and Brendon tangles his fingers in Patrick's hair, tugging him forward._

_When he reaches the head, he pulls back, maintaining eye contact, and licks his lips before he slowly lowers his mouth onto his cock, the wet warmth enclosing him pulls another deep groan out of him, and Brendon pulls on his hair again, his hips thrusting forward for more of the warmth, but is met with air instead._

Brendon opens his eyes and groans when he realizes that he's humping his blanket, and he rolls over on his stomach, frustrated at being awaken by the blinding sunlight. Seriously, why can't the universe wait until the dream's over to wake him up? That was, like, the best dream he's ever had in his entire life, though he does feel a little guilty that his _best friend_ was in his dream.

And not just any dream. It's a dream about his fucking _naked_ best friend  _sucking him off_ while wearing  _his_ jacket.

Holy fuck, he'll never let anyone so much as _breathe_ on it, let alone borrow it. _Ever._

Well, since he's already awake, he may as well go shower and get ready to meet Sarah. He rolls onto his back and groans, once again, when he realizes that he's still hard. There are many ways he can go from there: go back to sleep and pray that the dream will continue where it left off previously (hopefully Sarah doesn't mind that he comes a little late), stay in his bed and jerk off, go into the shower and jerk off, or, the most sensible of all, _get a cold shower and forget all about the dream._

Well, it wouldn't hurt to just…

He slips his hand inside his boxers, keeping a tight grip around himself before stroking up and down slowly, and groans. God, that feels _so good._ If he closes his eyes, he can imagine that Patrick is still kneeling between his legs, licking, sucking, doing all sorts of amazing tricks with his tongue, and, oh, don't get him started on those fucking _lips_ -

He immediately draws his hand back and sits up on the bed, eyes wide and heart beating fast. No. No way. There is _no way in hell_ he's going to jerk off to his best friend. He's not a creep, what the fuck.

He scrambles to get to the shower and sets the water to cold before stripping off and getting under the running water, fighting to keep his hands above his waist.

Nope. He's definitely _not_ going to jerk off to the thought of Patrick.

-

"You're late."

Brendon flops down in the seat in front of Sarah and tries to catch his breath. Sweat drips from his forehead, and he wipes them with the back of his hand before taking a large gulp of Sarah's nice and refreshing glass of iced apple tea. "Thanks for the drink." He sighs after his lungs don't feel like a deflated balloon.

Sarah sighs and crosses her arms, her perfectly done eyebrows raised in question. "Well?"

Brendon blinks at her, clueless. "What?"

"You're late. Again."

"Oh." Brendon laughs sheepishly as he scratches the back of his head. There's no way he's going to tell his ex, or anyone for that matter, that he's late because he just had a fucking wet dream about his best friend sucking him off. Naked! With his jacket! "Traffic's a bitch."

A waitress comes by with a cup of coffee, and she places it on their table before walking away. "Hope you don't mind I ordered a coffee for you."

"Not at all." He thanks her and begins stirring his drink.

"Anyway, maybe you should _try_ going out early?"

"Tried it before. Didn't work."

Sarah rolls her eyes at his answer, then rests her chin on the heel of her hand. “What did I even see in you in the first place?”

"My good looks?” Brendon shamelessly answers with a grin. Despite his small case of anxiety, he's pretty confident with himself. He just wishes Patrick would feel the same way about himself.

“Sure, B.” Sarah sighs. “So, what's new with you?”

Brendon picks up the menu laid on the table and skims through it. Oh, that meatball spaghetti looks good. Just the image of it on the corner of the page makes his stomach growl in hunger. He raises his hand and calls for the waitress, then turns back to Sarah. “I don't know. Dallon’s band had their first gig last week. Does that count as new?”

“I asked about _you_ , not _Dallon._ ”

The waitress arrives at their table, and Brendon tells her his order. Once it's done, he leans back in his seat, face scrunched up in thought. “Uh, me and Patrick watched Dallon’s band on their first gig last week?”

When Sarah moves towards him, her eyes glinting wide, Brendon knows he just fell into her trap.

“Yeah? What did you do after that?”

“I went back…?” Brendon answers uncertainly. He's really starting to feel anxious now with the way Sarah's looking and smiling at him.

“And then?”

“I went to bed.”

“With who?”

Brendon huffs out an annoyed sigh, knowing full well the intention of his ex asking all those questions. “I didn't sleep with Patrick. We went to the club together, but we went back separately. I went back alone, and he went with Pete.”

“Oh.” Sarah's shoulders immediately falls, as does the expression on her face. “That sucks.”

From the corner of his eyes, he sees the same waitress walking towards them with a plate of spaghetti on a tray. He waits until the plate is on the table in front of him to reply to Sarah.

“Still red.” He points his wrist to her as a reminder. Sarah's gaze falls on his wrist, her expression transforming into something unreadable. Brendon considers asking her, but right now, he has other matters, _important_ matters, to tend to.

He picks up the spoon and the fork in his hands and twirls the spaghetti around the fork before shoving it in his mouth. “Oh man, this is so good.”

Sarah makes a face at him, chiding, “Don't talk with your mouth full.”

Just to spite her, he opens his mouth to show off his chewed food.

“Okay, that's gross.”

Brendon shrugs, closing his mouth back to chew, then takes out his phone when it vibrates and chimes with notification. His eyes light up when he sees the name.

_From: Patrick_  
_10:34:31_  
_Dinner and movie tonight_

He grins at the message. That means Patrick's sleeping over again.

_To: Patrick_  
_10:34:40_  
_And halo_

_From: Patrick_  
_10:34:49_  
_No_

_To: Patrick_  
_10:34:57_  
_Tough luck. My place my rules_

He chuckles at the screen of his phone. He can imagine Patrick on the other side, scowling with his brows knitted together in the middle, wondering why do they have to play video games when they've already made plans to watch movies that night. He places his phone on the table, and as he shoves another forkful of spaghetti in his mouth, Sarah grins at him.

“Who was it?” She asks in a sing-song voice, smirking.

Brendon doesn't even bother to hide his happy face. “Who do you think? Patrick, duh.”

Sarah clasps her hands over her mouth to muffle her excited squeal as she bounces in her seat. "Oh my gosh! What did he say? Are you guys planning something tonight?" Then, she stops herself, jaw dropping open, eyes bulging wide. " _Oh my gosh._ Don't tell me. You're going out on a _date?_ "

His ex's enthusiasm about his little dilemma with Patrick never fails to amuse him. He was surprised when Sarah managed to guess that it was Patrick after almost six months into their relationship. He was even more surprised that Sarah wasn't at all angry or sad that her love was unrequited. In fact, it's quite the opposite.

Sarah was so ecstatic when she found out about his feelings for Patrick, and she has been a great friend ever since, as well as the greatest and _only_ confidant when it comes to, well, his feelings for Patrick.

 _"The star-crossed lovers." She declared with stars in her eyes. Brendon shook his head and crossed his arms, sighing. This was the weirdest break-up he ever had. She was supposed to cry or become quiet or anything that showed even the slightest hint of sadness, not_ happy.

_"How'd you even know it's him anyway?" Brendon asked._

_Sarah directed a wink to him. "Call it a woman's intuition."_

"We're not going _out._ " Brendon remarks as he stabs the meatball with his fork. He almost chokes on it when Sarah lets out another squeal and slaps the table repeatedly, attracting the attention of nearby patrons. " _Oh my gosh!_ You're having a date night _in!_ "

"Geez. Give a guy a little warning next time, will you?" Brendon reaches for the napkin and wipes his mouth with it, then continues to finish his plate of spaghetti. "But yes. We are having a night in. Not sure if it's a date though. I mean, he's with Pete, remember?"

"Oh, pfft." Sarah flaps her hand around, and the same grin is back on her face again. Even bigger than before, if possible. "You both are going to be _alone_ in the apartment-"

"We were roommates before, in case you've forgotten." Brendon interjects, but Sarah ignores him.

"-and what? Watching movies? Pull the classic moves on him! Pretend to stretch and then put your arm around him! Or-"

"Again, he's _happily_ in a relationship with Pete."

"-put your hand in the bowl so your hands will _accidentally_  brush together-"

Please. He has unlimited and _creative_ excuses filed away in his mind to touch Patrick. He doesn't need a cliche one. That's one of the perks of falling in love with your best friend.

Sometimes you don't even need an excuse to touch said best friend. Just put your arm around him, and he won't even ask a thing.

"-and then comes the big finale, if you get what I mean."

"We're already sleeping together." Brendon mumbles out, not really paying attention to his own words, too focused on finishing his spaghetti. When their table suddenly becomes quiet, he looks up from his plate to find Sarah's face has turned blue, her cheeks puffed up.

Worry lines begin to form on his forehead. "Hey, are you-"

" _Oh my freaking gosh!_ " Sarah leans forward and grabs him by the collar, pulling him to the middle of the table. "Brendon Urie, you sly _dog!_ "

"What?" Brendon looks at her weirdly, then, his words come back to hit him like a freight train. His eyes widen as his cheeks heat up. "Oh my god, _no!_ Not like that! Nothing like that!"

His hands reach out to Sarah's to get her to loosen her grip around him when it feels like his airway is being blocked.

"Can't breathe!" He squeaks out. Sarah immediately releases him, apologizing, and Brendon takes in as much as air he can.

"What- how- when- wait!" Brendon looks on in confusion when Sarah takes in a deep breath before releasing it slowly, though her eyes show even more excitement than before. "When did you start sleeping with him?"

Since he was a baby. Brendon opens his mouth to clarify himself, that he doesn't mean it like _that,_ though he wishes he does, but Sarah places her hand in front of his face before he can say a word. She gestures for him to come forward, and Brendon follows her, wondering what she's going to do this time.

"Who tops?"

If he were drinking at that moment, he would have done a spit-take straight on her face. Blood quickly rushes to his neck and face, and suddenly he can't form a single sentence. The rest of the blood has gone down south at the images his mind paints.

_Patrick on his back, arms pinned above his head as his face contorts in pleasure. Legs pushed up to his chest, spread, and skin glazed with sweat. "Harder!"_

_Patrick on his hands and knees, pushing back against him, loud moans spilling from his gorgeous lips. "Brendon!"_

He shakes his head to get them out of his mind and covers his burning cheeks. "Sarah! I didn't mean it like that! We _literally_ sleep together. We didn't do anything else. Holy shit."

"Oh." Sarah looks visibly disappointed with his answer. Brendon pushes his plate away, already lost his appetite from the earlier event, and reaches for his coffee. "And we're just going to play video games and watch movies tonight, alright? Nothing else. Just two friends hanging out."

"Okay." Sarah mumbles, defeated, and she crosses her arms on the table, looking strangely composed. Brendon takes a sip of his drink, his face twisted into a grimace when it's already turned lukewarm.

"Can I ask a question?"

Brendon looks up at her, his brows furrowed when Sarah looks a tad serious. "What?"

"Where do you see yourself if you hadn't met Patrick?"

Brendon looks down at his coffee in front of him. Where does he see himself? He practically grew up and lived his life with Patrick by his side, since, well, since he came to this world kicking and screaming and crying.

He can't think of one moment where he and Patrick are not together. They lived next to each other. They went to the same kindergarden together. Same elementary school. Junior high. High school. University.

They were first separated when Patrick moved to go to university, but even then, they kept in touch with each other everyday. Late night phone calls. Texts.

When it's time for him to go to university, he was surprised to find that Patrick had arranged everything so they could be roommates.

And even when Patrick moved in with Pete a few years later, they still see each other everyday. Either for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or a combination of all three. Or just plain hanging out at his place.

There hasn't been a day where they don't see or talk to each other the entire 24 hours.

"To be honest," Brendon starts, sipping on his coffee and swallowing the bitter taste. "There isn't a world where we don't meet each other. I'd be with him, always. Even as just a friend."

-

"Bren? I got pizza!"

Brendon peeks into the living room to see that Patrick, with a large pizza box in his hand, has settled himself comfortably on the couch in front of the tv. He strolls into the living room with a six-pack beer and places it on the table before starting up his Xbox and grabbing two controllers on the way.

"Player 1 or 2?" He grins as he waves the two controllers to his friend. Patrick scowls up at him and crosses his arms. "We agreed on _movies_ , Bren. Not video games."

"We agreed on both." Brendon points out and hands Patrick the second controller. As much as he loves Patrick, there's no way he's playing as the second player in his own place.

"I didn't agree on _anything._ "

When the home screen appears, Halo showing on the dashboard, Brendon clicks on start and stretches his arms high above his head, then cracks his knuckles. "Are you ready for some ass-kicking?"

"No!" Patrick cries out in frustration and hits him with a nearby small pillow. "Bren, it's movie- _hey!_ That's not fair!"

Brendon laughs as he starts the game, already choosing a weapon when Patrick was in the middle of his rants. He likes to push Patrick's patience, see him getting all worked up. It's one of his favourite hobbies, really. "Just a couple of rounds, strawberry. Then we'll watch movies."

Patrick lets out a grunt. "Stop calling me- _Brendon!_ "

"Keep up, strawberry!" Brendon taunts him. He knows just how much Patrick despises the name. He bites his lip, fighting back his laughter when Patrick shoves him with his elbow, a look of determination etched across his face. "You're gonna be sorry when this is over, Urie."

Oh, he is _on._

-

See, Patrick is adorable when he's angry. All barks and bites and scratches, but with a tiny body. And from his experience, his best friend is a pretty composed person (and just pretty in general), so nothing usually gets to him. Except for one.

The one effective way to get Patrick angry is to beat him at video games, and that's why he'd planned it beforehand. Because Patrick fucking _sucks_ at Halo.

_"Brendon, you cheat!"_

_"Stop shooting me!"_

_"This weapon is useless!"_

_"Brendon, stop shooting me!"_

_"Don't steal my kill!"_

_"Did you just throw a bomb at me?!"_

_"Get out of my way!"_

_"Don't you_ dare _shoot me."_

_"Brendon Boyd Urie!"_

He lets Patrick win the last round, because the older man seems like he's ready to chuck the controller at his tv any second. And he loves his tv, okay. He had to shed some of his dignity begging his brother to chip in some money for him to buy the freakingly awesome flat screen tv.

"I am _never_ playing Halo with you ever again." Patrick grumbles after they put on Ghostbusters ("But we just watched it last month!" "Yes, but we haven't watched it _this_ month." "That's what you said _last_ month!" Brendon swears Patrick is never going to pick movies again for movie night) and got all cozy on the couch, large blankets draped over them both with the lights off.

Their dinner is crap, the pizza cold and the beer warm, but he's spending the night with Patrick, so he counts that as a win for him.

"Hey, you won." Brendon tugs on the blanket so he gets more of it, squiggling around until it's wrapped snugly around him. Patrick lets out a whine and pulls the blanket back to him. "Exactly. You lost, and I won. So _I_ get more of the blanket."

Patrick really thought he won the last round fair and square. _How adorable._

"Come here, you strawberry shortcake." Brendon places his arm across Patrick's shoulders (and later when he meets Sarah, he's going to gloat in her face that _"See? I don't even need to pull a move on him just to touch him!"_ ) and pulls the older man close, their shoulders and sides and hips and thighs squished together.

Bundled up under the blanket, Brendon can feel the warmth radiating off Patrick, and he can also smell the faintest scent of cologne that he always wears. And he's just so…

"What are you doing?" Patrick asks, his tone amused. Brendon chuckles and continues to nuzzle against his hair, his hand sliding down Patrick's arm and squeezes the soft flesh. "You're like a giant teddy bear."

"Movie, B." Patrick reminds him, but Brendon knows neiher of them are paying attention to the movie. Patrick is stifling his yawns here and there until he finally nods off, his head falling on Brendon's shoulder. And Brendon, really, he tries hard to keep his eyes on the tv screen, but it's a lost cause when he has Patrick sleeping on his shoulder.

He wants so badly to trace his fingers on his face, graze them along his lips. Link their fingers together. Brush his knuckles with his thumb, and maybe a kiss or two.

But he can't do any of those. No matter how much he prides that he can touch Patrick without any excuses, there's always a boundary. And this is one he most definitely can't cross. There's a wide _'In-A-Happy-and-Strong-Four-Year-Relationship-with-My-Boyfriend'_  moat followed by a high wall of _'Best-Friends-And-Nothing-More'_  if he wants to get to the other side. It's just impossible.

He also can't help but think how everything would turn out if Pete wasn't in the picture. Would they have a chance? Would Patrick finally see him in a different light? Or would Patrick fall in love with someone else instead?

_"Where do you see yourself if you hadn't met Patrick?"_

"I can hear your brain working from here." Patrick murmurs sleepily. Brendon looks down at him and rests his head on top of his. "Sorry. Just thinking."

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Brendon considers not telling him, or maybe come up with a lie. But it's already late at night, and he's wide awake with his thoughts while Patrick dozes off beside him. He knows he won't be able to fall asleep if he doesn't get his answer. "Where do you see yourself if you hadn't met Pete?"

Patrick hums as he burrows himself closer to his side, and Brendon can't help the smile on his face when Patrick mumbles a _"You're warmer than this blanket."_  "I don't know. Still living my life? And with you, that's for sure."

His heart skips at the answer.

_"With you, that's for sure."_

He knows Patrick doesn't mean it like that, and he also knows he shouldn't dwell too much on Patrick's words like he always does. He shouldn't feel over the moon about it. He shouldn't get his hopes up.

But damn it, he _does_ dwell too much on Patrick's words, he _does_ feel over the moon about it, and he _does_ get his hopes up.

He gazes at the sleeping man next to him. His feelings are getting more and more unbearable each day, and he just wants to get away from it all. But he knows he can't bring himself to ever leave Patrick, no matter how much he needs to move on from him.

His heart can't take anymore of the high jumps and the low plunges that come with Patrick's words and actions. When Patrick would say things like _"You're the best" "Any person would be lucky to have you" "Don't tell Pete this, but I prefer watching movies with you"_  or even _"Oh God, B, this is the best pumpkin squares ever! I love you so much for cooking this."_  or do things like cuddling with him and cooking meals for him and hell, _sleeping on the same bed together with him_ , his heart would soar high up into the deep space. But the moment he remembers that Patrick only sees him as his _best friend since forever,_ his heart feels it's being dropped like an anvil into the Mariana Trench.

In due time, the two extremities can either give him a high blood pressure or drive him insane. Most likely the latter.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back against the couch, sighing. "What are you doing to me, Stumph?"

-

He can't stay like this forever. He can't brood over his unrequited love for his best friend just because he doesn't have enough balls to say anything to said best friend. He needs to do something to get the whole matter out of his mind, no matter how temporary.

When the next Friday night comes, he's dressed up in his best clothes and styled his hair, looking dashing for a night out at the club. He's going to have the fucking time of his life, and Patrick is _not_ going to be on his mind the entire night.

"Rum and coke." He tells the bartender, his gaze sweeping over the crowded club for any singles. It's times like this he wishes he's wearing his glasses, or at least brought them along with him. Everything from a distance is just a blur to his eyes. And he never likes wearing his contacts, so he's stuck to walking around the club to get a clearer view.

He pays the bartender and takes a sip of his drink. There are a few singles sitting at the bar just like him, some looking like they're waiting for someone to approach them. Well, that brunette looks a little lonely. And hot.

He smooths the wrinkles on his shirt, making himself look presentable, and downs the last of his drink. Before he can take a step, a slightly shorter, good-looking guy sidles up next to him, arm rested on the bar counter, smiling.

"What's a handsome guy like you doing at the club all alone?"

Brendon smirks. The night has just started.

-

It's definitely his lucky night that night as he's pushed backward on the bed before a pair of lips crashes against his, and suddenly there are hands all over his body, impatiently tugging his clothes off. When he lifts himself up on his elbows, the guy, _Martin_ \- the name sounds so familiar he can't put a finger to it, but he's getting laid and that's all that matters at the moment - is pulling his own shirt off.

Brendon watches him open the nightstand drawer and grabs a bottle of lube and a condom out, tossing them carelessly on the bed with them, then forces him back on the bed a little too roughly, causing Brendon to let out a small cry of pain.

"You're ready, handsome guy?" Martin crawls over him, already uncapping the bottle. Brendon raises his eyebrows in amusement. Does he really expect him to bottom? He flips them both over so he's on top, enjoying the surprised and wide-eye combination look on the other guy.

"Tough luck, sweetheart." Brendon steals the lube from him and places his fingers under Martin's chin, tipping his head up with a smirk. "I'm topping. Now roll over."

He licks his lip when Martin complies without a complaint, getting up on all fours in front of him. Something about the sight, the pale and slightly chubby figure, reminds him of something, no, _someone_ , and it sends a tingle of pleasure throughout him before it pools deep in his stomach.

He may have rushed a little at prepping him, but Martin seems to enjoy it, and not soon before long, he gives him a signal telling him that he's good to go. He rips the foil packet and puts the condom on, groaning as he slowly pushes in.

Their pace is fast and sloppy, but neither seem to care. They're both too busy chasing their own pleasure to care about the other. Their groans and the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fill the room, and Brendon slams in harder; he's close to his own release.

"Fuck." He groans out, too lost in the feeling of moment that he doesn't realize what comes out of his mouth next until it's too late. " _Patrick._ "

When Martin stops to look at him, he knows he just screwed everything up. _Seriously._ He's not supposed to be thinking of his best friend the entire night. They stare at each other, the room deafening with silence, and Brendon gulps. Is he getting kicked out?

Martin smirks and grinds back against him. "Sure. Okay, I'll be _Patrick._ "

Brendon doesn't say anything in return and continues to thrust, all the while imagining his best friend being the one under him.

So much for a Patrick-free night.

-

Hangover is terrible enough. The walk of shame is just as terrible. But doing the walk of shame while hungover is all sorts of suffering and misery mixed together in a bowl of regret.

Especially when your best friend is waiting for you in your apartment.

Brendon sneaks through the front door, closing it quietly behind him, and tiptoes his way to his bedroom. Patrick's in the kitchen, making a drink for himself, and he has his back towards him. So far so good. Patrick hasn't noticed him.

He's so focused on keeping his eyes on Patrick in case the older man suddenly turns around that he accidentally trips over a table in the way. He hisses in pain and balances himself by grabbing the back of the couch, then massages his foot. " _Fuck._ "

"Hey." Patrick greets him with a smirk, a coffee cup held in his hands. "Had fun last night?"

"Shut up." Brendon grumbles in answer, still in pain and in a massive headache, and goes to his bedroom without another word exchanged. He strips off all his clothes and gets under the shower, scrubbing all the grimes and sweats off himself.

When he's done, he puts on his boxers and a shirt, quickly slipping under the sheet to get some sleep. He can hear Patrick's feet padding into his room, and, not a few seconds later, the mattress under him dips.

"Bren, hey." Patrick calls him softly. "You okay?"

Is anyone ever 'okay' when they have a hangover?

"Yeah. 'Mfine." He mumbles as he pulls another pillow and hugs it to his chest. He tries to keep the butterflies from fluttering when Patrick places his hand on his forehead. He can feel a blush forming on his face, so he pulls the pillow up until they cover half his face.

"You're warming up a little," Patrick says, voice laden with worry. "Are you sure you're okay?"

As okay as someone who accidentally groaned their best friend's name while fucking a stranger will ever be.

"Yeah. Just the same old case of hangover." He replies, hoping that Patrick would drop it at that and leave him alone. However, Patrick doesn't seem to get his memo. "Still, I'll stay here just in case."

"Don't you have a date to go to?" Brendon sighs. It's not like he doesn't appreciate Patrick's presence, he really does, but he just wants to be left alone so he can wallow in self-pity at how pathetic he feels in front of his best friend.

"Nah. Pete can wait." Patrick smiles, brushing his hair away from his forehead and tucking him in gently. "You're more important."

Once Patrick leaves his room, he scrubs his face in frustration as his heart feels like it's being pierced with a thousand needles. He loves Patrick, but God, at the same time, he hates him _so much._

He already knows he has no chance of getting his feelings requited. Patrick doesn't have to say all those things that can get his hopes up faster than a firework going into the sky.

_"You're more important."_

"You have no idea how important you are to me." He mumbles as he closes his eyes, succumbing himself to the awaiting slumber, far away from his problems.

-

Patrick dotes on him the entire day like a mother-hen. It's nice, for the first few hours, that is, because he gets Patrick's attention all to himself. But when nightfall comes, he's starting to get a little annoyed with it all.

Because the more he spends time with Patrick, the more his heart breaks at the reminder that they'll never be together.

He goes to sleep early that night so he doesn't have to deal with Patrick, but when he wakes up the next morning, he's feeling shittier than ever. His headache intensifies. His nose is all clogged up. Everything just feels wrong.

He rolls in his bed and sees Patrick sitting on the edge, a wide smile on his face. Brendon groans at his smiling friend and pulls the pillow over his face. "Go away."

"Bren, come on." Patrick's laugh rings in his ears. "You need to shower. I've cooked breakfast for you. After you eat your breakfast and your medicine, then I'll let you get back to your sleep."

"It's early, Trick."

" _Bren._ " Patrick whines. Brendon retaliates by whining back.

"Come on. My back is aching from sleeping on the couch. Just do me a favour."

Brendon tenses, then slowly removes the pillow to look at Patrick. "Wait. How- What? You slept on the _couch?_ "

"Well, yeah." Patrick looks at him, a mixture of incredulous and obvious. "I wasn't going to sleep on the bed with you. I don't want to catch whatever it is that you've caught."

"No- no. Wait." Brendon breaks out into a coughing fit when he tries to sit up, and he mutters a quiet _"Thanks"_ when Patrick rubs his back and gets him into a sitting position. Once the coughing dies down, he looks back at Patrick. "You- you slept here? As in, you didn't go back to Pete's?"

"Honestly. Do you ever listen to a word I've said?" Patrick throws him an exasperated look, but it's soften by the fondness in his voice. "I wasn't going to leave you all alone when you're sick. Besides, I already told Pete I'm staying here until you get better."

Wow. Patrick really is going to stay with him rather than going back to Pete. Granted, it's because he's sick, but _still._ Patrick could just go back at night and come back early in the morning to check up on him, but he _stayed._

"Uh, what-" Brendon clears his throat, "-what did he say?"

"He's fine with it." But the way Patrick says it implies otherwise. Brendon wants to ask more, but he knows Patrick doesn't really kiss and tell when it comes to his relationship.

"Oh." He looks down at his lap, trying to figure what else he can say to get rid of the silence between them. It's becoming awkward from zero to sixty flat.

Luckily, Patrick breaks the silence first. "Shower, now. I'll wait for you in the kitchen." Patrick pats him on the knee before standing up to leave the room. Brendon watches his retreating back before he goes to the bathroom, wondering if Patrick and Pete just hit a bump in their relationship, and if the bump is him.

-

When he enters the kitchen freshly showered and in a pair of shorts and an old shirt, Patrick is already sitting by the island, head propped on his elbow as he scrolls through his phone, with two plates of pancakes and two steaming mugs of coffee already laid out for them.

He sits on the bar stool in front of Patrick and grabs a fork, cutting the the top layer of pancake into small pieces.

Three bites in, and Patrick still hasn't looked up from his phone. He hasn't acknowledged him either. "Aren't you eating?"

Patrick turns off his phone and places it on the counter, then picks at his food. "Lost track of time, I guess."

Brendon knows that's not it. Something is occupying Patrick's mind, but he's not going to push him into telling him. He just hums and reaches over for the syrup.

"Suppose you're still not going to tell me who it is?" Patrick's voice startles him a little, and he settles back in his seat after pouring the syrup on his pancake. He gazes at the marking on his wrist, huffing out a bitter chuckle, and angles his wrist so neither of them can see the red line.

"You and I share a lot of things, strawberry." Patrick frowns at the name. "But this is not one of them. Sorry."

"Are you still in love with them?"

Brendon shrugs. "Does it matter?"

"I just want you to be hap-"

His fork hits the plate a little too hard when he cuts the pancake, the sudden sharp clink causing Patrick to jump in his seat. Brendon doesn't look up at him. "Patrick, I've said it before, and I'm saying it again. I am _not_ talking about this."

They fall back into silence, only the screeching noise of the fork scraping against the plate filled the room. Brendon takes the coffee in his hands and blows on it to cool it down. He can feel guilt pooling at the bottom of his stomach when he snapped at Patrick earlier. Between what happened on Friday night and that morning, his mind is all over the place, and he needs to be _away_ from the source of his turmoil to keep everything in check.

And yet here he is, having breakfast with the source.

"Can I ask you something?"

"What?"

"If- if, hypothetically-" Brendon raises his eyebrows at the choice of word, but he keeps his mouth shut and lets Patrick continue. "-you love this someone, right? You're in love with them, and you're happy. Everything's perfect. You fight once in a while, and it's normal."

Patrick pauses there, fiddling with his own mug and biting his lip. Brendon sits up straight when his mind draws a conclusion. Did something happen to Patrick and Pete?

"So, um." Patrick hunches his shoulders, and his voice becomes meek. "What- what would you do if, um, you find a new line on their wrist?"

His eyes flicker to Patrick's wrist without meaning to. There are still two black lines there. Then, that means…

Colour immediately drains from his face as his stomach feels like it has just been punched. _No way._

_Does Pete have a new line?_

"I-" Brendon gapes, speechless. He doesn't really know how to give him an answer. He's experienced the feeling himself when Patrick fell in love with two people, but he's learned how to deal with the pain of heartbreak years ago. "Uh, I would- um."

"It's not Pete." Patrick looks up at him, his cheeks pink. "I- I just wanna know, that's all."

Brendon closes his mouth back. Of course it's not Pete. There's no way Pete would fall in love someone new when he's already in a relationship with the walking and living definition of perfection. "Hypothetically?"

Patrick nods. "Hypothetically."

"If they still love me, I'd fight for them. But if the feelings are gone, I'd let them go, I guess. I just want them to be happy." He is telling the truth, though. That's why he will never tell Patrick that he's in love with him. That he loves him.

Because Patrick is happier with someone else. Patrick is happier with him only as a _friend,_ nothing more.

"What about you? Don't you want to be happy too?"

Brendon manages a dry, humourless chuckle as he sips on his coffee again. "Happiness comes and goes, Trick."

He doesn't say anything afterwards. Neither does Patrick.

-

So his supposed Patrick-free weekend didn't really work out. It turned into a Patrick-filled weekend instead, as it has always been before for the past few years.

He doesn't know if he should feel lucky or cursed.

After a tiring day at his workplace, he flops down on his couch, face down. He can't even move a muscle, let alone get out of his sticky and smelly clothes. He's dying for a shower to clean himself, but between getting up and laying down, the answer is pretty obvious.

He blindly reaches for the remote on his coffee table, the black, rectangular item buried underneath messy stacks of letters and magazines and empty plastic bags. The movement causes some of the items to drop to the floor, and when he looks down at them, a white and elegantly decorated invitation card catches his attention.

He picks it up and reads the details. Right, Patrick's sister is getting married this weekend. He'd RSVP-ed it a few weeks ago, attending without a plus one.

There's no doubt Patrick is attending _with_ a plus one.

Looks like he's cursed for this weekend. Patrick _and_ Pete together as dates in a family event is not one of the things he looks forward to.

"B? You in here?"

Brendon summons all the energy he has left in his body and sits up. "Living room."

His eyes light up when Patrick walks in with a plastic bag full of take-out food and places it on the coffee table before sitting down next to him. Brendon opens the plastic bag, his mouth watering at the delicious scent wafting out, and picks up all the mess on the table and moves them to the chair to make room for their dinner.

"Is this my sister's?"

Brendon looks over his shoulder to see Patrick turning the card over in his hand, and he returns back to sorting out the food. "Yeah. You eating with me?"

"No. I can't stay for long. Pete's taking me out tonight."

Brendon pushes down the tight knot in his stomach and focuses on his dinner.

"Are you coming this weekend?" Patrick questions him.

"Yeah." He answers with a mouthful of food, then swallows. "I already took this Friday off, so I can go back early and help with whatever."

"That's great! We can go together!"

Brendon snorts quietly. And be the third wheel? No thanks. "It's fine. I'll just meet you there with him."

"Nah, Pete couldn't come." He nearly chokes on his food and turns around to face Patrick, his eyes wide in disbelief. Is Pete really not going to be there for the _whole_ weekend? "Really?"

"His father just got admitted a couple of days ago, so the whole family is visiting him." Patrick clarifies, his face crestfallen. Brendon feels sorry for Pete, but at the same time he can't help feeling happy that Pete's not coming to Megan's wedding!

"O- Oh." He tries hard to put as much sympathy as he can into his voice and expression. "I'm sorry. How's Pete?"

Patrick shrugs, his smile back on his face. "He's good. So, anyway, I already told Megan he's not coming, so she books a room for us to stay at the hotel. What do you say, _roommate?_ "

Brendon's face splits into a grin. Well, his weekend just got _lucky_.

-

"Patrick! Brendon! It's so good to see you boys again!"

As soon as they arrive at the hotel hall where the wedding will be held, they are attacked into a tight hug by the Mother of Hugs herself.

"Good to see you too, Patricia." Brendon hugs her back with a giant grin on his face. Both Patrick and Patricia give the best hugs, but out of the two, he's not afraid to admit that Patricia's hugs are better than Patrick's.

"Miss you too, mom." Patrick smiles before they both pull away. "Where's Megan?"

"By the altar." Patricia answers. Then, she reaches for something in her pocket before handing it to her son. "Oh, that's right. Here's your key. We're checking out on Sunday, so don't oversleep, okay?"

"Will do, ma'am." Brendon mock-salutes, and he finally takes in the decorations inside the hall. Chairs are draped with white cloths and tied with red ribbons, arranged neatly on two sides of the hall with a white aisle runner separating them. Down at the altar, the arch is decorated with pink and white flowers, sweet and enchanting. It's simple, but classic.

Would his own wedding be like this? White and pink and red and floral? What about the cake? Three tiers? Four tiers? Vanilla? Butterscotch? Indoor? Outdoor? Surely Patrick doesn't mind if it's outdoor, right?

Blush creeps up on his face at the last thought. How did Patrick suddenly get in the picture?

He shakes his head just as Kevin pulls him into a headlock, laughing. "Dude!"

"Kevin!" Brendon cries out, his arms flailing around trying to get away from Kevin's death grip around his neck. When Kevin finally releases him, he takes large gulps of air. "You still haven't changed, have you?"

The older man grins and ruffles his hair. "Neither have you. That's what us older brothers do."

Brendon scoffs and playfully shoves him. "I have two-" he emphasizes by lifting two fingers to Kevin, "-I repeat, _two_ older brothers. Who are just as childish as you."

"Nah. You're just fun to mess around with." Kevin pats him on the shoulder before turning around, clearly looking for someone. "Who did you come with?"

"Patrick. He's here-" Brendon frowns when he can't spot Patrick, but he soon finds the other standing not too far from them talking to Megan and their father. "- _there_ with Megan."

"So, Patrick's your date?"

The same blush makes its appearance on his face for the second time that day. "N- No. I mean, we drove here together, but I don't plan on bringing any date. Patrick's supposed to be bringing Pete, but he's got family issues, so he couldn't come."

Brendon sweats under Kevin's unblinking stare. He fiddles with his thumb before shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and rocking on his heels back and forth nervously. "W- What?"

"So, Patrick's your date?"

"No!" But when he thinks about it, in a way, they are each other's dates now. His cheeks heat up again. Kevin raises his eyebrows, and Brendon gives up with a sigh, his shoulders drooping. "…yes."

"See?" Kevin smirks. "It's not that hard to admit."

Brendon unconsciously tugs at the sleeve of his jacket until it fully covers his wrist. There's no way Kevin knows about his feelings for Patrick, right? Everyone in their families knows about his red line, but none of them knows who it is.

…right?

Kevin's smirk widens when Patrick walks up to them with a grin. "Hey. What did you guys talk about?"

Brendon clears his throat and fumbles with his glasses. "Um. How's Megan?"

Thankfully, Patrick seems to be clueless and forgets about his previous question as he catches him up with the preparation progress. Brendon still flushes when Kevin keeps sending looks in his direction, and he can only hope the older man doesn't say anything in front of Patrick.

"-and they're having another rehearsal soon. You wanna watch?" Patrick asks him. "Or do you want to head up to the room first?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll watch." Brendon nods, and he breathes out in relief when Kevin begins to walk away from them to go to his wife. When Patrick smiles up at him with an _"Awesome"_ , his stomach does a flip.

And for the fifth time in the span of fifteen minutes, he blushes again.

-

The hall echoes with the sound of clapping hands as the rehearsal finishes two hours later. Brendon was watching from behind throughout the entire ordeal while Patrick was with his family at the front. He doesn't get why a rehearsal is needed; they're only walking down the aisle. Why would someone need to practice just how to walk?

"So you don't trip before you reach the altar."

Brendon jumps in surprise at the voice, and he flushes when Patrick grins up at him. He doesn't even realize when Patrick has stood beside him. "Did I say that out loud?"

Patrick hums. "Not loud enough for everyone to hear."

He lets out a sigh of relief. The last time he asked something like that during his sister's wedding rehearsal, he got a good sandwich knuckle at the arm from his sister.

The bruise didn't leave for two weeks.

"I like their vows," Brendon says. "Very heartfelt."

Patrick nods in agreement. "What about you? Are you going to stick to the traditional vows or make your own?"

Well, he wants it to be special. He doesn't want a vow that has been said too many times to count. "Make my own. You?"

"Same." Patrick grins. "I want it to be something special, y'know? Something that comes from the heart."

"Great minds think alike." Brendon slings his arm around Patrick's shoulders, returning his grin. "Hopefully no one falls during the walk."

"It's not hard!" Patrick looks up with a shine in his eyes, and the older man grabs his hand and drags them to the aisle, Brendon fighting the butterflies in his guts and the blush on his face the entire time. "C'mon. I think I got the gist of it from watching them earlier."

Patrick links their elbows together once they're at the aisle. "Watch my feet, alright?"

Brendon pushes his glasses up as he copies Patrick's movement. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. It's too slow for his liking; he's always liked things quick and swift. With a mischievous grin, he begins to take longer strides.

"Wait, Bren-" Patrick stumbles to catch up to him, then yanks him back to his side, playfully hitting him. "Not that fast!"

"It's too slow!" Brendon complains, unaware that everyone's eyes are on them, watching them in amusement. "C'mon, strawberry. Keep up."

"I told you not to call me that." Patrick hits him again and straightens his back, fixing his crooked glass before looping their elbows again. "Walk _slow._ " Patrick tells him, accentuating with a glare and a tightened grip.

"By the time we reach there, I'd probably have grey hair already," Brendon says petulantly with a pout as they resume their walk. Patrick snorts and elbows his ribs. "Probably suits you better anyway."

"You're still older than me." Brendon reminds him.

"Yeah, well, I don't complain as much as you do."

Brendon sends an incredulous look in Patrick's direction, who sticks his tongue out in return. "Strawberry, please, you complained about how I drive the entire ride here."

"That's because it's true!" Patrick counters. "Don't blame me if you got a ticket."

They stop bickering when they've reached the altar, and they drop their hands, the music stopping. Brendon looks up at the speakers. He didn't know that the music was on. When he looks back down, Kevin is standing there with them with a grin spread across his face.

Kevin clears his throat. "Today is a celebration. A celebration of love-"

 _Holy motherfucking shit._ His face begins to burn in embarrassment when he realizes what Kevin is doing. 

"-of commitment, of friendship, of family, and of two people who are in it for forever."

He steals a glance at Patrick trying to see his reaction, but the other just smiles up at him adorably. Patrick doesn't show any sign that he's angry. In fact, it's the opposite. He lets his brother continue, and he doesn't look flustered or embarrassed or anything of the sort. He just smiles, his shining blue eyes focusing on him. His heartbeat and breathing slow down, his shoulders falling at the same time. Everything just seems so real at the moment.

Is this how his wedding with Patrick would be like?

"Please exchange your rings and say your vows."

"Brendon Boyd Urie." Patrick grins and takes his hand in his, then acts like he's sliding a ring on his finger before looking back up at him. Brendon can feel a tender warmth spreading from his finger to his chest and surrounding him whole. The feeling is so unbelievable that it makes him dizzy, like he's floating on air.

"You have always been that little annoying voice in my head that I can never get rid of-" Brendon chuckles at that as Patrick continues, "-and frankly, I never want to get rid of it. You always know how to make me feel fine again, no matter how silly I look in the end.

"No, you don't." Brendon protests, but he's grinning. Patrick scoffs and rolls his eyes. "You let me win in video games because you knew how terrible of a player I am."

Patrick raises his eyebrow accusingly. Brendon laughs, so does everyone in the hall, and shakes his head. "Yeah, okay. You did look a little silly."

Patrick gives him a miffed look, but it quickly disappears, replaced with a smile on his face. "I was there for you even before you came to this world, and I will continue to do so until the end of time. Whenever you need me, I promise to stay by your side, always."

Brendon's heart just soars at Patrick's words, and he squeezes their hands together briefly as Patrick continues. He doesn't doubt them, not a single bit. Patrick has proven them through his actions time and time again- from when they were kids till they're two grown adults. And he knows Patrick will still be there for him when they're old.

"And, no matter how much I dislike the name," Patrick wrinkles his nose to show his displeasure, "I will forever be the strawberry to your chocolate."

Brendon can't help the grin that appears on his face. Nobody knows why they call each other _strawberry_ and _chocolate,_ not even their family knows why. He calls Patrick with that nickname because their friends fought over the colour of Patrick's hair once- _"It's light brown." "Ginger." "It's blond, duh." "Strawberry blond?"_  The name _strawberry_  just struck out the most, and he started calling Patrick with it.

To get back at him, Patrick called him _chocolate_  because of his hair. It's a pretty lame comeback, but it's Patrick, so he let it slide.

"Patrick Martin Stumph." Brendon smiles at him, laughing slightly when Patrick makes a funny face at him, and he slides an imaginary ring on Patrick's finger. He lifts his gaze back to the older man, and his insides just turn to mush. "You are the promised kiss of springtime that makes the lonely winter seem long. The breathless hush of evening that trembles on the brink of a lovely song."

Patrick's face melts into a smile, and Brendon takes that as a good sign. He takes a deep breath and continues, his voice soft and gentle. "You are the angel glow that lights the star. The dearest things that I know are what you are."

He lifts Patrick's hand and kisses his knuckles, not even bothering to hide his smile. "And even when I'm old and gray, I'm gonna feel the way I do today."

Hushed _"aww"_ s are heard over the hall, but Brendon only has his attention on the strawberry-blond man in front of him, looking up at him with his shining wide blue eyes and his adorable little grin and his pink-painted cheeks.

And then it's like everything around them just disappears. It's only them in the hall, at the altar, holding hands, facing each other. Patrick in his grey suit, and him in an identical black. A silver band around Patrick's finger, and the same one around his. And then…

_"I pronounce you married. You may now kiss."_

"Brendon…" Patrick bites his lower lip, the action doing nothing to stifle the obvious grin plastered across his face. "I would, honest to God, swoon over you if you hadn't just read Sinatra's lyrics as your vow."

His chest rumbles with laughter, followed by Patrick's and everyone, the sound reverberating throughout the hall. "How'd you know they were Sinatra?" Brendon asks after he finally calms himself down, wiping the small drop of tear at the corner of his eye.

"Oh, please. I've known you my whole life." Patrick rolls his eyes. "There's nothing about you that I don't know."

"With the power invested in me," Kevin announces, "I now pronounce you taller brat and shorter brat. You may annoy one another."

The room erupts into cheers and claps and laughter, and Brendon grins so wide he can feel it threatening to split his face. He places both his hands on each side of Patrick's face, smacking a loud and wet kiss on his nose, much to Patrick's chagrin. "We're married, babe!"

"Patricia! I'm your son-in-law now!" Brendon turns to the woman he calls his second mother. He knows Patricia loves him, just as much as his own mother loves Patrick. Patricia lowers down her hand holding her phone and hugs him, laughing. "I always knew this day would come."

Kevin sidles up next to him, patting on his back as everyone goes back to what they were doing. "Glad to have you in our family, _brother._ "

"Oh, man." Brendon whines. "Two older brothers are torture enough, but _three?_ "

Their little moment is interrupted by a phone ringing. They all look at each other before turning to Patrick, who fumbles to take his phone out of his pocket.

"Pete's calling." Patrick answers sheepishly. "I'm just gonna-" He waves his hand around and walks to an empty corner in the hall.

A small frown crosses his features, but Brendon fakes a smile before anyone notices it. Right. Just because Pete can't come doesn't mean he can't call.

He shakes the negative thought away when Megan walks over to him with her fiance, winding her arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. "Congrats, B! Welcome to the family!"

"Megan!" Brendon beams. He's always liked her since he was a kid. She always baked cookies for him whenever he came over to meet Patrick. "My favourite Stumph sibling!"

Megan nudges him on the side and laughs. "I'm flattered. Your family would be so disappointed they missed this, though."

Patricia waves her phone with a cheeky grin. "Good thing I recorded it then."

"Oh!" Brendon exclaims. That means he can watch the whole thing from the beginning. "Can you send me the video? I wanna watch it later."

"Anything for my baby son-in-law." Patricia coos while pinching his cheeks.

-

"It's beautiful, huh?" Patrick sighs happily as he looks at the dance floor, watching his sister dancing with her husband. The wedding that morning was wonderful, and even though he didn't get to sit next to Patrick, he did get to sit behind him.

Brendon flicks his gaze to the man sitting next to him. The small curve of a smile never leaving his lips ever since they woke up that morning for the ceremony, his ocean eyes glimmering with happiness every time they land on the newlywed couple, his skin glowing softly under the golden light. Brendon swallows at the sight and reluctantly tears his gaze away. "Yeah. Beautiful."

"You know," Patrick starts, "one day, when you get married, I want to sit at the most exclusive table. I refuse anything less." The shorter man turns to him with a cheeky grin, his hair falling slightly into his eyes.

Brendon chuckles softly and grabs his flute of champagne, drinking half of it. "And when you get married, I want to sit at the same table as you."

Patrick grins, his arm slung over Brendon's shoulder. "Don't worry, B. Consider it arranged."

He drinks his champagne again. If only Patrick caught the meaning behind his words.

"Have you ever thought of what your life would be like after getting married?"

Brendon relaxes in his seat. "Never given it much of a thought. Why?"

Patrick shrugs, and Brendon can sense a wave of sadness coming from him. He scoots his chair closer to Patrick so his voice can be heard over the music playing. "What about you?"

"I-" Patrick bites his lip. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" That comes as a shock to him. He would have thought that Patrick has already planned everything if, no, _when_ he or Pete finally pops the question to the other.

Patrick shakes his head. "It's a big change. And- I don't know." He leaves it at that, not explaining further.

"It is a big change." Brendon agrees. Does that mean Patrick has a little bit of hesitation about Pete?

Does that mean he still has a chance?

As they continue to watch the couple dance, Patrick addresses him with a curious tilt of the head. "Are you ever going back to the dating scene again?"

"I don't know." Brendon shrugs nonchalantly, sipping on his champagne. "Haven't found anyone I liked yet."

"You always hang out with Sarah. Why not give it another shot with her?" Patrick suggests. "I like her."

Brendon laughs. It's such a gratifying satisfaction that Patrick likes her. He wants Patrick to like his friends, and he wants his friends to like Patrick. He knows that will never be a problem. Patrick is a likable person, and he likes everyone. "She likes you too. But, no, we're better off as friends."

"Well, as long as you're happy." Patrick smiles, patting his back, then brightens up when an older man approaches them. He stands up from his seat and shakes hands with the man. "Uncle Jeremy! How are you?"

While the two begin to catch up with one another, Brendon sneaks off to the open bar and sits by himself, drinking and mulling over Patrick's previous question.

_"Have you ever thought of what your life would be like after getting married?"_

Come to think of it, he also doesn't know. For one, he doesn't know whom he'd be marrying to. It could be Patrick if, by some miracle, Patrick and Pete break up. Or it could also be Sarah. If they haven't found anyone else by the time they're 30, he can see them married to each other. They're great friends, so it might work. Somehow. Or it could also be to someone he hasn't met yet. Arranged marriage?

And how would his life turn out? Will there be any difference from what his life is like at the moment? It's just like having a roommate, right? Sharing bills and chores and responsibilities. If that's the case, then, what's the point of getting married?

"What are you thinking about?"

Brendon looks to the source of the voice and smiles when he sees his mother sitting down beside him. "Hey, mom."

His mother smiles back, traces of concern highlighting the wrinkles on her face. "What's on your mind? You seemed deep in thought."

He considers lying to her, telling her that he's fine, but that would make her worry about him even more. And besides, this is his mother. He can tell her anything without feeling ridiculed.

He licks his lips. "What's the point of getting married?"

His mother seems taken aback by the question, her eyes growing wide, like she doesn't expect that kind of question from him. He suddenly feels bad for blurting the question out. The topic is too heavy in this kind of event. Just as he's about to take it back, his mother finally gives her answer.

"Everyone has their own reasons for getting married." She starts off slowly, and Brendon listens with his utmost attention. "Some get married because they want to build a family. Some for selfish reasons. Money, for example. Or selfless reasons, like arranged marriages. Some people even get married for no reason at all."

"What about love?" Brendon finds himself asking a few seconds later, his tone carrying a heavy tint of sorrow behind it as his gaze land on the red mark on his wrist peeking from under his sleeve. "Shouldn't it be, like, the main reason people get married?"

His mother places a hand over his wrist, tracing her finger over the mark. "You'd be surprised at how many people let go of the person they love _because_  of love."

Brendon snaps his neck up to look at his mother, who has a sad, knowing smile on her face. His throat begins to tighten.

His mother knows.

"Mom," he says with a cracked voice, desperation mirroring in his eyes. "I don't know what to do."

His mother pulls him into a hug and rubs a soothing hand on his back, and he buries his face in her neck. "Things will work out someday, B. For now, just enjoy the ride wherever it takes you, then brace for the bumps."

-

Even after his mother has left to mingle with the other guests, he stays quietly at the bar, bored out of his mind watching everyone around him. That is, until Kevin approaches him with a strangely sober expression and takes the empty seat next to him.

"It's him, isn't it?" Kevin asks quietly. Brendon arches an eyebrow at him, confused. "What?"

Kevin doesn't look at him when he answers, his eyes fixated on Brendon's exposed wrist. "That red line. It's my brother, isn't it?"

"No." Brendon quickly answers as he pulls the sleeves down, cursing himself for being careless. "Where did you get the idea?"

"Everybody knows, Brendon. Your family. Mine." Then, he flicks his gaze to the younger man, his lips tugged into a small smirk. "You couldn't have been any more obvious when you guys were at the altar yesterday."

Brendon starts to splutter in embarrassment. _Oh good god. Does that mean Patrick knows too?_  "W- What? No! I didn't do anything!"

"Didn't do anything. Sure." Kevin quips with a grin. "Whatever you say, I believe you."

"Shut up." Brendon groans, all gloomy and despair and oh _God he's so embarrassed_ , and he buries his head in his folded arms. If only he had the power to become invisible. "That was nothing. We're just joking around."

Kevin snorts quietly. "Of course. That's why you didn't look at him like you're all lovestruck. Admit it, you wished it was real."

"Whatever, okay? Even if the red line is him, which I'm not saying that it is-" he adds the last part quickly when Kevin lifts a brow at him, "-he already has Pete. He really loves him."

His voice grows quiet at the end of the sentence as he suddenly understands the full implication of his words. Patrick loves Pete, and that's a fact no one can change.

Not even him. Patrick's best friend.

"Brendon, we all know you love him, okay? We watched the video Mom recorded yesterday, and trust me, if we showed it to him, he'd change his mind about Pete in a heartbeat."

His stomach twists, and it's like air has been knocked out of his lungs. He turns to Kevin with wide eyes. "W- What?"

Kevin looks at him, face filled with sympathy. "Everyone can see how much you love him just from the way you look at him. And, trust me, Patrick's going to see it too if we just show him-"

"No!" Brendon bursts out as he tugs on Kevin's hand. Suddenly everything just zeroes in on him. The hall getting smaller. The crowd getting louder. His suit getting tighter. Suffocating him. Drowning him.

"Kevin, please, no. _Please_ don't show that video to him. He's happy with Pete, and I don't want to disrupt that. Never show it to him, please, I don't-"

"Okay, okay." Kevin quickly soothes him when he starts to breathe a little too fast and a little too short. "We won't show the video to him, I promise."

"Thank you," he says, grateful, and he drinks his wine to get himself calmed down.

"You know, all of us thought that you two are going to end up together." Kevin scoots closer to him as if he doesn't want anyone to hear their conversation. Brendon looks at him in curiosity. "Why?"

Kevin gives a small chuckle before sipping his drink. "I don't know if your parents ever told you this, but before you were born, like, when you were still in your mom's-"

"Okay, Kev." Brendon groans and scrubs his face. "Get to the point, please."

"Whenever your mom came to our house or when we had a small party or dinner together, you know what Patrick did?"

Brendon shakes his head, and he leans forward as his heart begins to thump in anticipation. "What did he do?"

"He-" Kevin erupts into a small fit of laughter and wipes the tears from the corner his eyes. "Oh my god. He actually ran up to your mom and-"

Kevin bursts out laughing before he gets to finish his sentence, slumping over the bar counter and clutching his stomach. Brendon, at this point, feels like he can just explode from all the tension and suspense Kevin is giving him.

He tugs on Kevin's arm again, eager and desperate to find out what happened next. "Kevin! What is it? What happened?"

"He called your name!" Kevin answers with a grin. "No joke, every time he saw your mom, he'd go all _'Brendon!'_ or _'Mommy, Brendon's here!'._ Sometimes he even took his story books out and read to you."

As Kevin continues to laugh, something stirs in him. A warm feeling radiates through his chest, surrounding him, making him feel weightless. Lightheaded.

"So, that vow yesterday," Kevin continues after he's regained some composure, "Patrick was literally there for you before you were even born. Just imagine how happy he was when you're here."

Kevin finishes his drink and throws his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "I was planning to tell this story when you guys get married to each other, but-" He ends his sentence with a shrug, then stands up from his seat, patting Brendon on the back and leaving him alone by the bar to go talk to the others.

Brendon stares contemplatively at the red line decorating his wrist. He doesn't know what to feel about Kevin's little revelation. On one side, it's like a small seed of hope is planted in his chest, watered everyday by their memories, because from the previous tale, it's almost like the stars were aligned to get them together. Patrick was already waiting for him. Patrick never left his side once. Patrick was there. Patrick _is_  there.

But on the other side, it's like planting the same seed on barren ground.

It's sad enough that Patrick only looks at him as a friend, but as a _little brother?_ He can't bounce from there. He can't go _anywhere_ from there.

He picks up his glass and finishes it in one gulp, then requests for the bartender to keep it coming. He just wants to numb that side of him. He doesn't want to think about the red line and what trouble it has caused him. He was perfectly fine when he was still confused about his feelings for best friend, shrugging it off as him missing the older boy for already leaving to university.

Then, on one particular evening when Patrick came back, they hung out as usual. He was beyond happy and giddy and thrilled, because his best friend was back. Because _Patrick_ was back. And when he went to grab some snacks for both of them, that's when he noticed the red line on his wrist for the first time.

He didn't say a word to anyone the entire day.

Brendon sighs and drinks what seems to be his fifth shot. Or maybe it's his fourth. Or sixth. He doesn't remember. He lost count after the eighth.

Sometimes he wishes he can just get rid of the mark. Scratch the skin until it disappears.

Until his feelings disappear.

He sees Patrick in his peripheral vision, talking and laughing with the other guests, looking ever so radiant. Charming. Captivating. And a little bit tipsy.

He can just go there, stand in front of him, and tell him his feelings. With his luck, Patrick may not even remember it the next day.

But if Patrick does remember, then maybe, _just maybe,_ he would think twice about them and about Pete. Maybe Patrick would realize that he's the one for him all along.

Maybe Patrick would love him back.

Or maybe not. Maybe Patrick would still love Pete. Maybe Patrick would only see him as a friend.

Maybe Patrick would feel weird and uncomfortable around him after that, and they would never be the same again.

He throws his head back as he downs another shot, thanking the bartender, and stalks over to Patrick. There's only one way to find out.

 _I love you._ It's not hard.

It's just three words.

Three syllables.

One breath.

One chance.

One moment.

Then, everything will change.

_For better or for worse._

"Brendon!" Patrick beams up at him as he comes closer. Still with that same smile on his face, the older man walks up to him, meeting him halfway in the middle.

_No regret._

Brendon opens his mouth. "Dance with me."

-

Okay, so maybe he chickened out at the last second, but it's turning out so much better than expected. They dance together, even to slow songs (Brendon still can't believe that they slow danced together), they sing karaoke a few times, and they drink.

And drink.

And drink.

And drink.

And keep drinking until they can't tell which way is left or right, up or down. Who cares, though. He's having a fucking wonderful time, and so is Patrick.

They get into the elevator together and rides up until they reach their floor. He forgets what number their room is, but Patrick remembers, so he drapes himself all over Patrick, laughing when they hit the wall.

"Bren," Patrick laughs, pushing him off gently as he reaches for their card key in his pocket, "gimme a sec. I gotta- I gotta open the door."

It takes multiple tries for him to get the key into the slot, but as soon as the door's open, Brendon pushes them both inside, kicking the door close, and they stumble on the bed, giggling together. The single bed is too small for both of them, for two grown male adults, but neither of them seem to care. Brendon just loves the feeling of Patrick pressed up against him, loves the feeling of Patrick breathing down his neck, loves the feeling of Patrick's fingers on his skin.

They're so close together, forehead to forehead, chest to chest. But not close _enough._

Brendon slides lower until he reaches the neck, his lips just a breath away from Patrick's skin, and nuzzles against it. He slips one hand underneath Patrick's shirt and rests it on the soft stomach.

He wants so badly to sink his teeth into the skin and rip his clothes off. Kiss every inch of his body. Bury himself deep inside him. Make him scream his name.

He gives one last nuzzle before he lifts himself up to look at the disheveled man under him. Patrick is looking back at him, his own eyes hooded and dazed with lust, his lips parted and just _begging_ to be kissed.

Patrick's eyes flick to his mouth. Brendon licks his lips, watching the other man do the same. When Patrick closes his eyes, Brendon leans in close until their breath intermingles between them.

This is it. One kiss, and all his fantasies will come true. Just a kiss with his best friend.

His best friend whom he secretly loves for years.

His best friend who has been the center of his dreams.

His best friend who is already in a relationship.

His best friend who is also _drunk._

Brendon snaps his eyes open and jerks back immediately. _Fuck._

He almost kissed Patrick. He almost _took advantage of Patrick._

"Bren?" Patrick stares up at him, hazy and confused and curious all rolled into one look. Brendon shakes his head and goes to go sit at his own bed, anywhere away from Patrick before his drunk-addled mind can convince him to jump back into the bed and finish what they started.

"Go to sleep, Trick." He sighs, then proceeds to take off his suit jacket and button-up, tossing them in the general direction behind him. When he looks to the other bed, Patrick has already fallen asleep, his chest rising before falling ever so slowly.

He slouches forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the other. He doesn't know what he's feeling at the moment; too many emotions are coursing through him that they give him a migraine.

He should be glad that he sobered up just enough before anything can happen. He did the right thing. He did what a responsible person would do in that kind of situation.

But at the same time he's also angry that he stopped. He _wants_ to kiss Patrick. He wants to do a lot of things, _everything,_ to him, even though things will never be the same for them ever again when they wake up the next morning.

Rather than spending the night getting a migraine mulling over what just happened, he kicks off his pants and shoes, leaving him only in his boxers and undershirt, and gets under the sheets, ignoring the guilt weighing in his stomach as he lets sleep take over him.

-

The next morning, Brendon wakes up with a terrible headache and to Patrick's muffled voice floating in the room.

"-yeah. Okay. We'll be down. Mm hmm. Okay. Bye."

He blinks his eyes blearily, glad that the curtain blocks majority of the sunlight, and rolls over on his side to see Patrick lying on his stomach, face planted on his pillow with his phone next to him.

"Who's that?" He questions, his own voice slurred and rough from sleep. Patrick gives him an unintelligible answer before turning his head to look at him, his eyes squinted and bloodshot. "Mom. We need to get packed. Everyone's already down at the lobby."

Brendon groans and pulls the duvet over his head. "I'll come down after a few hours."

"Bren, come on." Judging from Patrick's voice, it's clear that he doesn't want to get up too. "Check out is at twelve. It's already eleven now."

"I wanna _sleep._ " He whines out loud, which turns into a groan when his headache gets the best of him. He pulls the cover down to his chin and looks at his best friend, jutting out his bottom lip in a small pout and making the cutest puppy look that he knows Patrick will never say no to. "And aspirin."

"I'm beginning to think I spoiled you too much when we were kids." Patrick grumbles out, looking adorably grouchy, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. Brendon almost forgets about his shedded suit strewn all over the carpeted flooring of the hotel room until Patrick calls his name. "Hey, Bren. Did you remember anything from last night?"

 _We almost fucked._ Brendon shakes his head. "We both went to bed."

"And I slept in my suit?" Patrick stares down at his own suit with a frown. "How come yours are all over the floor?"

"Because I stayed awake long enough to get out of mine?"

Patrick's frown deepens, and he begins to unbutton his suit jacket and shrug it off. Then, as he walks over to where their bags are, he pauses, eyeing Brendon with a suspicious look. Brendon raises his eyebrows in silent _"What?"_

"You're not naked under there, are you?"

Brendon perks up, and his eyes sneak over to Patrick with a smirk, eyebrows wriggling suggestively. "I can be if you want me to."

"Oh my god." Patrick mutters under his breath as he grabs a bottle of aspirin from his bag, tossing it to Brendon, and a clean shirt before heading to the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. After swallowing a pill, Brendon places the bottle on the nightstand, though he wishes there was a glass of water beside him. His throat is so dry it makes even swallowing difficult. He closes his eyes for a quick nap, but Patrick's muffled voice jolts him back awake. "Pack your stuff! We're leaving as soon as you clean up."

 _Leaving._ His heart sinks at the word. He's not ready to leave the weekend yet. He's been having so much fun for the past couple of days with Patrick. The walk down the aisle, the vow, the reception. Even though the first two are just them playing around, but it feels like a dream come true, and he could live in it forever.

And the moment they set their foot outside the hotel, the dream would be ripped away from him, leaving only bittersweet memories that can never be replaced or recreated with anyone ever again.

He would have to go back to the real world. He would pine over Patrick like usual. And Patrick would go back to Pete like usual.

"Hey, you wanna hang out next weekend?" Brendon shouts so Patrick can hear him in the bathroom. He hears the shower go off, and Patrick steps out seconds later with his shirt on and a towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair. The answer that Patrick gives him leaves his chest feeling cold and empty.

"Can't. Pete's family is having a small get-together party. I'm going with him."

Brendon frowns. He doesn't ever want to leave this weekend.

-

_He greedily swallows Patrick's moans as he backs the older man up against the wall, their kiss never once breaking. It's all dirty and desperate, teeth clanging and tongues clashing. He bites on Patrick's bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth before letting go and attacking his neck._

_Patrick lets out a whimper, one hand holding onto Brendon's shoulder and the other in his dark hair, and tries to keep himself up. Brendon doesn't make it any easier for him. He slides in-between Patrick's legs, pressing up against him and nipping on his neck, making sure it leaves a bruise._

_"Brendon-" Patrick chokes out, and Brendon can feel him shuddering under him. He pulls back just enough to get Patrick out of his shirt, and turns him around to face the wall. He presses a kiss on his shoulder before moving slowly down the spine to the small dip on his back, his hands roaming all over the skin._

_Patrick moans from above him, his legs shaking from holding himself up. Brendon moves to his hips, nibbling on the soft skin spilling out from the waistband of his pants. He places his hand on the back of Patrick's thigh, pressing him against the wall to keep him in place, while the other slides up his inner thigh before resting on the bulge inside his pants. He presses back against him when Patrick thrusts his hips forward, getting another whimper out of him._

_He pulls back to see a bruise already forming on the pale skin, and before he can think of anything else, he latches onto another spot, making the same mark._

_“Brendon.” Patrick whines, his pants getting tighter by the second. He moves his hand to unbutton his jeans, fumbling, but Brendon slaps his hand away, preventing him to do so. “Brendon, please!”_

_“Keep your hands on the wall.” Brendon instructs him, and Patrick obeys without another word. Brendon stands back up on his feet, his clothed chest pressing against Patrick's bare back, and flicks the button on his jeans, pulling the zipper all the way down. Patrick's breath stutters; he's almost free from the tight restraints of his jeans._

_Brendon sneaks his hand inside, palming and teasing him through the the thin layer of boxers. He bites at Patrick's earlobe and tugs on it gently, hearing a sharp gasp followed by a drawn-out moan._

_“C'mon, babe.” Brendon whispers, his breath hot and heavy. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”_

_“P- pants.” The older man manages to stutter out through the constant stimulation made by Brendon's hand. “Get them off.”_

_Pressing a kiss on his neck, he tugs the jeans and boxers down together in one go, then watches them slide down past his knees before they pool around his ankles. He moves to give some space for Patrick to step out of his clothes, and before the older man can turn around, Brendon pins him back to the wall by the hips. "Stay like this."_

_Patrick tilts his head to the side so one cheek is pressed against the wall and looks at him from over his shoulders, his face red. "Take your shirt off." He demands._

_Brendon pulls his own shirt off before throwing it in a general direction. He buries his fingers in Patrick's hair, roughly tugging him up, and smashes their lips together. Patrick lets out a sound that is a mixture of a cry and a moan, and it sends a jolt down his spine and straight to his cock. "I really want to fuck you."_

_"Y- yeah." Patrick pants out before he's attacked into another kiss, barely getting his sentences out. "Want you to."_

_He lifts his free hand that's not tugging at his hair and shoves three fingers in Patrick's mouth while he sucks on his neck. He can feel Patrick's tongue all over his fingers, all the way from the tip to the webbing, slicking them generously, not missing a spot._

_He pulls on Patrick's hair for more access on his neck and pushes his fingers down his throat, Patrick letting out a loud whimper from the roughness. Spit is already running down his chin, his lips slicked. When he opens his mouth, Brendon pulls his fingers out and presses a gentle kiss on the underside of his jaw. "Ready?"_

_Patrick nods with a moan, and his hands, previously flat open against the wall, are now curled into fists. Brendon places his finger against his entrance, pushing the first knuckle in._

_Patrick closes his eyes and whimpers, getting breathless as he clenches around him. Brendon lifts his head and presses their lips together, and he trails his hand down from Patrick's hair to grab at his soft love handles, getting him to relax._

_"More." Patrick whispers into the kiss. Brendon pushes his finger in further and continues to kiss him, swallowing every sound that comes from Patrick's mouth. He wriggles his finger until he gets past the third knuckle. Patrick rests his forehead against the wall, his head hanging, and lets out a harsh breath._ "Fuck."

_Brendon trails his second finger around the rim, teasing him before slowly pushing past the tight ring of muscles. A low moan rumbles from Patrick's throat as the two fingers are buried inside him, and Brendon curves his fingers, crooking, spreading and scissoring around until Patrick lets out a loud gasp._

_"Oh_ God- _" Patrick moans loudly, his knuckles shaking and turning white when Brendon presses against the sensitive spot inside him. "Don't stop."_

_"Don't plan to." Brendon continues to stretch him, mercilessly rubbing against his prostate and drawing louder and breathier moans from the older man. He drops his head and sinks his teeth on Patrick's shoulder, making more marks on him as he slides in another finger. Patrick is tight around his fingers, and he can't imagine what it would feel like when he's buried deep inside him. It would probably be hard to move at first, every push and pull resulting in different sounds, and when the muscles around him are loosened enough, he would start fucking into him, pounding away until Patrick can't hold himself up and he himself can't keep up with a steady pace, and Patrick would come against the wall, which, in turn, makes him come hard inside him with Patrick squeezing and milking him until he can see his own come drips out and down Patrick's thigh._

_He groans when his cock twitches in his pants at the imagery. It's taking everything within him to not come on the spot. His fingers dig into Patrick's skin as he tries to control himself, and he slides his fingers out, Patrick letting out a whine as he does so._

_"Brendon." Patrick moans, his head tilted back to rest on Brendon's shoulder, baring his neck as Brendon leaves a trail of wet kisses. "Brendon, fuck me. I need- Now."_

_"Yeah." Brendon breathes out against Patrick's sweat-damped skin. "Yeah. Okay."_

_Patrick spins around and immediately drops to his knees, Brendon taking a step back to make room for him, and hastily opens the button and unzips it. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of Brendon's boxers and pulls the two garments down, and he takes him in his mouth without wasting another second._

_His hand flies out to grip at Patrick's hair, the older man letting out a moan, sending a vibration around him. Patrick pulls off to take a deep breath and dives back, deepthroating him. Brendon tugs on his hair again and thrusts forward until he hits the back of Patrick's throat._

_Patrick feels so good around him, working on him until he gets all slicked, then lifts his head, panting. Brendon cups his jaw and admires the sight; Patrick with his lips wet and swollen and eyes pleading and cock steadily leaking pre-cum._

_He releases his hand from Patrick's hair and pulls him up for a kiss as he backs him up again against the wall. Placing both his hands on Patrick's hips to support him, he whispers, “Jump.”_

_Patrick does, looping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck, and moans when Brendon aligns himself with his entrance, his voice gravelly. “Brendon.”_

_“Ready?”_

_“Just fuck me.” Patrick moves his arms to grab at Brendon's shoulders, his nails digging into the skin. Brendon rests his head in the crook of Patrick's neck and breathes. He pushes slowly into him-_

Brendon groans in frustration as he blindly grabs for his alarm-blaring phone, turning it off. What the fuck. Why does his alarm have to ring _now?_ Why couldn't it give him extra five minutes or ten? _He's so close too!_

He sighs and rolls over on his stomach. How much of a pervert can he be, wanting to fuck his best friend?

And, morning wood or not, he is _not_ going to jerk off to his best friend.

-

It has got to be that night of the reception when they were both drunk that started this. The last time he had a wet dream about Patrick was a couple of months ago, and they didn't even get to do anything in the dream. He got to see him naked, but that's only it. The action hadn't even started when he was woken up.

But _this._ Holy shit. They did so much more than the previous one, and they very nearly fucked too. He doesn't know why these kinds of dreams come to him in the first place. Just because he's in love with his best friend doesn't mean he should be having dreams about him. And, despite what his friends say, he is _not_ sexually frustrated, okay? He goes out every Friday night, and he, very successfully, gets laid every time.

So why in the world is he having sexual dreams about his best friend?

"Hey." Patrick greets him when he walks through the bedroom, casually leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Do you want to eat in or out today?"

Brendon puts on his shirt, even though his body is still wet from the shower earlier, and turns around to fully face Patrick. Heat begins to rush to his face when he remembers last night's dream.

They both were at that same _exact_ spot on the wall.

_"Ah- Brendon, h- harder!" Patrick's back makes a perfect arch against the wall as he slides up and down his cock, both his hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging deep and leaving red scratches on his skin. "Brendon, I- I'm gonna-"_

Brendon blinks and shakes his head, his face heating up even more when he sees Patrick staring at him, his brows furrowed. Fuck, did he really just think that _while_ Patrick's standing in front of him?

"Brendon?" Patrick calls, his blue eyes filled with concern. "What's the matter?"

"N- No." Brendon clears his throat and averts his gaze. This is getting ridiculous. He can't even look at Patrick in the face without thinking of the dream. Without thinking of kissing him. _Fucking him._ "Nothing. I'm just tired, I guess."

"Oh. Well, if that's the case, maybe we should just stay inside." Patrick tells him, eyeing him in worry. "I'll go make us some breakfast."

When Patrick leaves the room, Brendon runs his fingers through his wet hair, heaving a huge sigh of frustration. He never would have thought that the day where he dreads spending time with Patrick would come.

-

"Are you okay?" Sarah raises her eyebrows once he drops in his seat across her at their usual hangout spot. Brendon nods wordlessly, folding his arms on the table and resting his head on them, sighing.

"B? Did something happen?"

Trust his ex to know if something's up with just a glance. He shakes his head and stares at the salt and pepper shakers sitting on the table, wondering if he should tell her about his problem. A cool hand is placed on his arm, shaking him gently. "Go wash your face, Brendon. Then we'll talk about it."

He reluctantly gets up from his seat to go to the washroom. He opens the tap and places his glasses carefully beside the sink, then splashes his face with the cold water a few times before closing it. That actually feels good and refreshing. His phone chimes with an incoming text message, and his stomach drops when he sees the name.

_From: Patrick_  
_09:37:21_  
_Just checking up on you. How are you feeling? Any better?_

Sometimes he hates Patrick for being too kind. Why can't Patrick be an asshole for once and ignore him? The heartbreak would hurt much less that way.

_To: Patrick_  
_09:37:30_  
_Yeah_

He puts his phone on silent and slides it into his pocket, feeling slightly guilty at the one-word answer. Sighing, he puts his glasses back on and lifts his head, his eyes catching his reflection in the mirror.

His face is pale and sunken, dark rings prominent under his eyes, even with his glasses on. His hair disheveled, greasy. A complete contrast to how his hair is usually done, since he always takes good care of his hair.

How did he come to this? He has always managed to control his feelings for Patrick, keeping them from getting the best of him, but they have never become this bad.

He shakes his head and goes back to his seat, finding two drinks on their table. Quietly thanking Sarah, he stirs his drink.

"So?" Sarah presses softly. "What happened?"

"I don't know." He confesses with a defeated sigh, shoulders slouched. "I don't know what happened. We're fine the other day."

Sarah tilts her head in question. "Patrick? Did you guys fight?"

"No. That's the problem." Brendon groans and rakes his fingers through his hair again, frustrated. "I wish we did, but we didn't."

"I don't think I'm followi-"

"It's getting difficult for me to be around him." He confesses, his words making a hole in chest. He swallows and picks at his nail when Sarah becomes quiet, waiting for him to elaborate. "I- I can't stop thinking about him, even when we're in the same room. And I-"

He stops himself from finishing the sentence. Is he really going to tell her that he's been having wet dreams about Patrick frequently lately?

"What is it?"

Screw it. He needs all the help he can get, and Sarah knows about all about his situation that she'd never make fun of him. He props his elbow on the table and rubs his temples to ease his headache. "I keep having… _dreams_ about him."

Sarah looks puzzled before her eyes widened slightly with a small blush, jaw dropping open in realization. "O- Oh. Okay. And?"

"And I wish my feelings would just go away." Brendon buries his head under his hands, fingers pulling tightly at the root of his hair. Then, he flicks his gaze to Sarah, feeling guilty at the question he's about to ask. "Am I a horrible person for wanting them to break up?"

Sarah sighs, gently prying his fingers from his hair. "Look, B, I'm all for you and Patrick, but they both have been in the relationship for four years, and they're still going strong. I'm not surprised if Patrick suddenly comes up to you any second and asks you to be his best man."

He groans again and bangs his head against the table. Hopefully that doesn't happen anytime soon. Or at all.

"Why don't you just tell him the truth? I can see that it's starting to effect you." Sarah suggests after she settles back in her seat. A waiter comes with their food, a plate of spaghetti and a piece of cheesecake. Sarah pushes the spaghetti towards him, but he doesn't make any motion to eat it. He drinks his coffee instead. "You already said it, Sarah. Their relationship is rock solid. I can't take that away from him."

"Point taken." Sarah nods, cutting a small piece of the cake. "What are you going to do now?"

He truly, honestly doesn't know. He leans back and slides down his seat, legs stretched. "Should I give up on him?"

Sarah is quiet for a moment, looking contemplative. When she opens her mouth, Brendon sits up a little straighter in his seat, ready to hear what she has to say.

"How long are you willing to wait for him?" Sarah questions him. "I mean, take Ryan for example. He loved you, but he knew your relationship was going nowhere, so he moved on. He knew when his time was up."

Sarah places a comforting hand over his. "Look, I love you guys, and it hurts me to say this, but you need to do the same. Ryan waited for you for a year. You've waited for Patrick for _seven_ years."

"Six." Brendon corrects her, then sighs and ruffles his hair. "What was I supposed to do? We've literally been together since the day I was _born._ I can't just leave him."

"I didn't mean leave him literally." Sarah replies, leaning back in her seat and taking a sip of her drink. "Just put a little distance between you two until the feelings are gone."

Brendon raises an eyebrow at her, confused. "How am I supposed to do that?"

Sarah shrugs. "If he invites you to go somewhere, tell him that you've got other plans. If he calls you, let it go to voicemail, then tell him that you left your phone, or that you put it on silent."

"What if he came to my place?"

"Pretend you're not home?" Sarah gives him a _'duh'_ look. "You don't have to avoid him _completely._ Keep in touch with him, just not much. But don't give him the idea that you're avoiding him."

"If you do it right, then maybe you can get over him. Who knows, maybe you'll have a new black line. Or, you know-" Sarah grins, showing her wrist to him, "-maybe you can turn this black."

Brendon laughs at her, a much-welcomed and much-needed relief from the previous topic. He's glad that Sarah is still willing to stay friends with him, even when she knew that her feelings are one-sided. "You deserve better than a guy hopelessly in love with his best friend."

Sarah smiles at him, her demeanor softened. "So do you."

Brendon lets the conversation drop there as he drinks his coffee. Even if he deserves better, he still wants Patrick.

-

Patrick is sleeping over again for the weekend. Brendon used to worry about what Pete would think; his boyfriend sleeping at his best friend's house rather than his own and _sharing the same bed._  But Patrick assured him that Pete doesn't mind.

If he were Pete though, he wouldn't be surprised if he wanted to beat the daylight out of him.

He steps out of the bathroom and shakes his head, sending droplets of water flying everywhere. He has a feeling that it's going to be a slow day for both of them. They're either going to binge watch a series or sleep the whole day.

Walking over to the closet, he pulls out a shirt and puts it on, only to stop dead in his tracks when he glances at his bed, almost doing a double take at the sight.

Patrick is sprawled at the center of the bed with one arm bent over his head and legs akimbo, his shirt and boxers ridden up to reveal more of his pale skin. Brendon lets his gaze wander over Patrick's sleeping form; from his bared neck to his inner thigh where he can see a few fading hickeys littering.

His fingers twitch, resisting the urge to press on each one of the hickeys and leaving his own fingerprints-like bruises on the skin.

He swallows nervously and averts his gaze. This is getting out of control. He has slept in the same bed with Patrick way too many times to count, but he never did once think of him like _that._

He shakes his head one last time and slips out of the bedroom as quiet and as fast as possible before he does something crazy.

-

_"Bren-" Patrick's moan turns muffled as he kisses the older man and pushes him down onto the bed. Not breaking their kiss, Brendon crawls over him, their bodies slicked with sweat, and lifts Patrick's hands above his head, pinning them down with one hand, the other gripping on his hip._

_"Now- fuck me, now." Patrick gasps between their kisses. Brendon hums and moves lower, kissing and stopping at the base of his neck, then sucks gently on the skin. When he shifts his position so that he's between Patrick's legs, electricity jolts up his spine at the feeling of their cocks brushed together causing him to groan._

_"Brendon!"_

_The dark-haired man blows cool air on the area where he just sucked, admiring the angry bruise marking the skin. God, what he wouldn't do to leave marks everywhere on Patrick. He attaches his mouth back to his skin and continues his way down, pressing small kisses to the sternum before making a detour to his hardened nipple, breathing hotly over it._

_Patrick makes a low, keening sound at the back of his throat, and he tries to lift his hands from where they're being pinned down, but whines again when they don't budge. A small smirk grazes Brendon's lips, taking delight at the way Patrick's body jerks when he flicks his tongue over the nub._

_"Fuck me already." The blond man cries out in desperation and rubs their lower halves together. Brendon hisses at the friction and pulls off from Patrick, admiring the view of a flushed Patrick panting and frowning at him. "Stop teasing and start fucking."_

_"Bossy." Brendon grins and releases Patrick's hands from his grip. Then, he lifts Patrick's legs, spreading them open and nibbles on his inner thigh. Patrick's frown dissolves into a weak moan, his eyes hazy and pleading. "Brendon-"_

_He bites down hard on the skin; not too hard that it can break it, but just hard enough that it leaves his bite mark on it. Patrick's back arch up high as a loud moan bounces off the walls, his hand going to Brendon's hair and pulling on it, causing Brendon to let out a small grunt in pain._

_Slapping Patrick's hand away, he reaches for the lube and coats his fingers with it. Then, he looks at Patrick, one finger teasing around the rim._

_"Please-" Patrick grinds his hips down to get the finger inside, but Brendon holds him down by pressing on the stomach, preventing any movement from the other man. "Stay still, okay, babe? If you do, I'll make you feel so good, I promise."_

_Patrick nods his head rapidly, making a small and desperate sound. "Okay, okay. Just- please- Hurry up-"_

_His sentence is cut off with his own moans the moment Brendon pushes two fingers inside him, immediately finding his sensitive spot and massaging against it. He continues to thrust his fingers in and out, giving all his attention to every little details of Patrick's reactions._

_Small, broken whimpers escape past his bitten lip, his eyes screwed shut and his fingers curled in the sheets. Brendon can tell that he's trying hard not to move, and there are moments where his hips lift up from the mattress, but he pushes him back down until his back lies flat._

_He inserts the third finger, listening to Patrick's moans. Slowly lifting his hand from his stomach, he wraps his hand around Patrick, who wastes no time moving his hips down to get his fingers deeper and up for friction._

_Patrick has already started leaking, pre-cum dripping down, and Brendon strokes upward, taking his own sweet time. He likes watching Patrick like this. Bossy in the beginning, but the moment he has something up his ass, he suddenly becomes a mess._

_"Brendon." His name comes out in a harsh pant, and Patrick looks at him through his lust-filled eyes. "I- I'm ready. Just fuck me."_

_Brendon ducks his head down to between his thighs and leaves another small bite on the sensitive skin, paying no heed to Patrick's request. He wants to drag him on for a little while longer. He pinches at the tip, making Patrick cry out at the feeling, his hips lifted up from the mattress involuntarily. "Brendon!"_

_He pulls his fingers out with a wet pop, and he lightly slaps on Patrick's thigh, loving the way it jiggles under his hand. "Roll over, babe."_

_He watches in patience as Patrick lies on his stomach, his arms shaking. While slicking himself up, his eyes rake over Patrick's naked form, lingering on his ass. He can't wait to be inside him._

_He wipes his hand on the sheets, then places both his hands on Patrick's hips and leans over to whisper in his ear. "You ready, babe?"_

_"Yes." Patrick whines, turning his head to the side with one cheek pressed against the pillow. Brendon pushes into him in one swift motion, Patrick easily accommodating to his size._

_"_ _Fuck." He hisses when the muscles clench around him._ _When Patrick begins to push back into him, Brendon digs his fingers into his hips to stop him. "Stay still. Let me do all the work, babe."_

_Patrick's moans are muffled by the pillow underneath, his fingers scratching on the sheets. Brendon slides one hand up Patrick's back to his head and buries his fingers in the mop of hair, tugging his head up and smashes their lips together. He shoves his tongue inside when Patrick parts his lips, their tongues dancing together and pulling beautiful moans from his throat._

_He starts to move his hips, having to bite back his groans at the feeling of Patrick around him; nice and warm and tight, the sensation making him light-headed, especially with the sounds Patrick is making._

_Breaking away from the kiss, he attaches his lips to his earlobe, gently tugging it with his teeth. "Don't come yet. I want us to come together."_

_Patrick clenches around him in response. He moves back to sit on his heels, continuing to push into him. His thrusts have picked up a fast but steady pace, and he can't keep his eyes off watching the way Patrick takes him whole._

_He pulls back, leaving just the tip in before slamming back into him, knowing that he just hit his prostate when Patrick lifts his head and arches his back, wailing. "There!"_

_Pressure begins to build up inside him, and he knows he's not too far off. Pulling out all the way, Patrick whining at the loss, he flips Patrick on his back and shoves back in, pushing another loud wail out of his mouth._

_"Brendon-" Patrick cries out as he writhes underneath him. "Brendon, please, I'm gonna come-"_

_"Hold it." Brendon growls in his ear. Both his hands are still pinning the older man down by the hips as he continues to pound away, ramming against his prostate with each thrust. His pace has become erratic, heartbeat fast and breathing harsh. He can't focus on anything but the sound of Patrick's increasingly desperate moans, and his muscles go tense from the effort of holding himself back for a few more thrusts._

_"I can't!" Patrick sobs, his knuckles already turning white and shaking from how hard he's grasping the sheets. "B- Brendon, please, I'm gonna-"_

_Brendon drops his head on Patrick's shoulder, sinking his teeth into the skin, his groan muffled as he comes inside him, painting his walls white. Not a second later, Patrick follows behind him, his back arching high and a scream ripping from his throat._

_"Brendon!"_

He drapes his hand over his eyes, and he bites his lip so hard he can taste blood when he wakes up to find his boxers damp.

He feels like crying. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to fall for his best friend. He didn't ask to fall in love with his best friend. He didn't ask to have wet dreams about his best friend. He didn't ask to have all these feelings for his best friend.

He just wants to be happy with his best friend by his side, regardless of the nature of their relationship. That's all he wants.

The back of his eyelids begin to burn with frustrated tears, and he pulls the pillow from under his head and places it over his face. Maybe Sarah was right. Maybe it is time for him to move on from Patrick.

He can't live like this for the rest of his life. He can't let Patrick occupy his entire mind.

He can't let Patrick break his already broken heart again.

-

_From: Patrick_  
_11:30:53_  
_Lunch today?_

He stops himself when his fingers have already typed in a _'Yes'_ without meaning to. It's like his brain is wired up to say yes to every single one of Patrick's questions and requests, and his body just goes on autopilot when it comes to the strawberry blond man.

Patrick could ask him to do anything, and he would always say yes without a question.

_"Can you find me that white cat we saw once in the woods when we were kids?"_

_"Sure."_

_"Can you buy me a private island with two yachts and three huge mansions?"_

_"Of course."_

_"Can you help me hide this body?"_

_"Definitely."_

Okay, so he's kinda whipped a little. Maybe he can use this chance to start distancing himself away from Patrick. He deletes the answer and types in a new one.

_To: Patrick_  
_11:33:19_  
_Can't. Got a bunch of work_

His phone vibrates a few seconds later.

_From: Patrick_  
_11:33:24_  
_Okay_

Well, that wasn't hard. He can get used to this.

-

"Brendon? Are you in here?"

The younger man braces himself in the living room, putting on his blank face. He can avoid Patrick as much as he wants during the weekdays, because they're both busy with work, but not on weekends. And what if Patrick decided to sleep over?

He turns the volume up as he lies on the couch, occupying all the space so Patrick has no choice but to sit somewhere else. Does he feel guilty? Fuck yeah.

"Hey." Patrick greets him with a sigh before flopping down on the floor. Brendon tries not to stiffen too much when Patrick leans his head back on his thigh, a little too close to his crotch.

Okay, maybe it's a little hard. And, well, a little _hard._

He shifts lower until Patrick's head is resting on his stomach, and he relaxes again. Problem fixed.

"We haven't hung out the entire week." Patrick mumbles as he closes his eyes. Brendon doesn't make a sound. He tries to pay attention to the show playing on the tv, but it always comes back to Patrick in the end.

He has one hand resting on his stomach, so he lifts the index finger, stroking Patrick's hair with feather-light touches, fascinated at the way it moves like a wave under his finger.

When Patrick tilts his head, he quickly withdraws his finger and raises his hand to rest above his forehead, turning his gaze to the tv. Patrick raises his eyebrows at him. "Did you do something?"

He shakes his head.

"Why are you so quiet today?"

Shrug.

"Are you okay?"

Nod.

"Bren-"

"I'm fine." Brendon interrupts him, being very careful not to look at Patrick in the face. His resolve would just break down if he did. To make it seem like he isn't being harsh, he adds, "I'm just tired."

Patrick stays quiet; Brendon can feel his eyes on him. After a few seconds fly by, he hears a deep sigh coming from the older man, sending a pang to his heart.

"Okay."

-

He gets through the next week slightly easier; during the weekdays, that is. He keeps refusing Patrick's invitation to lunch or dinner, giving him excuses about having too much work.

He's pretty sure that Patrick doesn't buy the excuse after the first three times, but he says the same thing every time.

_"Okay."_

Now that it's Saturday, Patrick comes to his place again, skipping on his feet and radiating happiness.

"So, guess what?" Patrick beams as he vibrates in his seat. Brendon tries not to respond to him. Patrick's happiness is contagious, but he can't let himself get affected by it. He needs to get over him, and this is one of the ways.

He doesn't give a reply, instead he plays a game on his phone. Ignore. Just ignore. Don't pay any attention to him.

"Okay, since you want to be _difficult_ -" Patrick's tone turns annoyed, and Brendon feels an immense amount of guilt weighing in his chest. "-I'll just tell you anyway. Pete couldn't go to the movie premiere tomorrow night, so I have an extra ticket! I'm taking you. What do you say?"

Don't say anything. Pretend you didn't hear anything.

"B…" Patrick places a hand on his shoulder, but quickly removes it when Brendon shrugs.  
  
"Brendon…"

Brendon swallows. Was he being too cold?

"I, um, okay. I'll just- I'll get going now…" Patrick says, his voice tinged with hurt. He stands up from the couch hesitantly, eyeing him. Still, Brendon pretends not to notice anything.

Patrick places the extra ticket on the table before turning to head to the door. "I guess I'll see you soon. Bye, Brendon."

He knows Patrick's still by the door, waiting for him to give some sort of response, but he keeps his lips sealed tight, not making a single sound. Then, he hears Patrick's sigh followed by the sound of soft clicks of the door being opened and closed.

He places his phone down on the table and lies on the couch, closing his eyes. Patrick's scent and cologne are still lingering from where he sat earlier, only serving to remind him just how childish he's being and how he regrets everything. He doesn't like being apart from Patrick. He doesn't like not talking to Patrick.

And he doesn't like what he's doing to Patrick, but he can't stop until his feelings disappear.

He extends his hand to reach for the ticket, frowning. Should he go? Does he trust that his feelings won't hurt him like they did before; getting his hopes up only to be shot back down?

-

He likes nights like this; quiet enough that he can hear his own breathing, chilly enough to raise goosebumps on his skin. Sitting outside at the fire escape with a lit cigarette between his fingers, he rests his elbows on the stairs behind him and looks up at the cloudy sky, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

It has been a long time since he last smoked, and, as he takes another drag, he forgets just how calming and therapeutic it is. Every time he blows the smoke out, it's as if his problems go away with it in exchange for nicotine and a peace of his mind.

Inhale, exhale. Nicotine in, problems out.

But this time, he can't exhale them away. They hang onto him like nicotine in his lungs every time he glances at the phone in his hand.

He stomps the cigarette out and lights a new one. Hopefully his third one for the night will burn everything.

_From: Patrick_  
_22:45:21_  
_Why didn't you come to the movie?_

-

Brendon mutes the tv and cranes his neck to look at the door. He has been doing it for the third time in the last hour for the past few days, expecting the same result each time. But so far, the results came back negative.

Patrick hasn't come knocking on his door for a week now. Hasn't contacted him either. Hasn't asked him out for lunch or dinner. Hasn't done anything.

He should be happy that it worked, right? If Patrick stopped contacting him, then, in the next few months, he can fully get over him.

Then, why does it feel like he just lost something irreplaceable?

-

He's just preparing his breakfast when he hears knocks on his door. He turns off the stove and pads over to the door, looking through the peephole. He half-expects it to be Patrick, the other half Sarah.

He doesn't expect to see Pete.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves down, he slides the bolt and opens the door, seeing the older man in a casual outfit, though his expression is not in the least casual. He looks agitated. "Pete?"

Pete looks up at him before looking past his shoulders, his eyes searching inside the apartment. "Is- is Patrick here?"

Brendon shakes his head, but he's starting to worry about his best friend at the way Pete's voice sounds. "No. Why?"

Pete pushes past him to get inside the apartment. "Patrick!"

"He's not here, Pete." Brendon grabs his shoulder, annoyance taking over him when Pete barges in uninvited. Pete shrugs his hand off and glares up at him. Brendon gladly returns the glare back. "I know he's here. Where else would he have gone to?"

"Definitely not here." Brendon grits his teeth at Pete's stubborn attitude. What does Patrick see in him anyway? "Pete, we haven't talked to each other for almost a month now. We haven't even _seen_ each other."

Pete's shoulders begin to droop, his face falling. Brendon almost feels sad watching him like this. "Did something happen between you two?"

"Kinda." Pete mumbles as he plays with the zipper of his jacket. Brendon waits for the explanation of his answer, which he is given after a moment of silence. It's an answer that he thought he would never ever hear in his entire life.

"We broke up."

He can hear the deafening rush of blood in his ears at the three words. Did Pete really just say what he thinks he said? "W- What?"

Pete sighs and shoves his hands in his jacket, and he looks small in Brendon's eyes. "We had a fight and broke up. He left last week. Thought he needed some time apart." Then, he mutters the last sentence so quietly Brendon almost misses it. "Thought he'd be here the first thing."

Meanwhile, Brendon is still struggling to wrap his head around what just happened. Pete and Patrick broke up? Patrick left _a week ago?_

Then, where is Patrick staying then?

"Do you know where he is?" Pete asks him.

"I- I don't know. Sorry." He breathes out in shock and disbelief. They really did break up. As soon as he gets over his shock, worry settles in its place. Where is Patrick?

"If you see him, can you please talk to him for me?"

"Y- Yeah." Brendon stutters, still feeling dazed at the news. "I'll try."

-

Patrick and Pete broke up.

Patrick and Pete _broke up._

_Patrick and Pete broke up!_

Even though the situation doesn't call for it, but he feels like screaming at the top of his lungs and dancing around in the apartment. He has a chance! He really does have a shot this time!

God, it's like the entire month where he tried to stay apart from Patrick was just a waste.

But anyway, he has an important matter to think about. Where would Patrick go to stay for a couple of nights? Scratch that, for _a week?_

Pete had mentioned to him that he was the first person he asked, because he had thought that the first person Patrick would go to is him. Which would be true, if only he hadn't stopped talking to Patrick.

Brendon frowns, his brows knitted in concentration as he scrolls through his contact list. He has some of Patrick's friends in the list, maybe one of them knows where he is.

_Joe._

Yeah, Joe must know where Patrick's staying. They've been close friends since first year in college, according to Patrick. He taps on the contact and waits for it to ring.

_"Speak to Trohman."_

He clears his throat. "H- Hey. It's me. Brendon."

Joe laughs from the other end of the line, which calms him down a little. _"I know. Caller ID, kid. What's up?"_

What is he going to say to him? Everyone knows that he and Patrick are practically inseparable, so wouldn't it be a little silly if he asks other people about Patrick's whereabouts? Because if anything, he should be the first person to know about it.

"So, um. Just checking in to see if you're alive." Brendon slaps his forehead when he finishes his sentence. Seriously? What the hell is wrong with him?

 _"Very much alive, thank you for asking."_  Joe chuckles, then there's a sound of a door being closed in the background. _"Dude, can you do me a favour?"_

Brendon sighs. Curse his anxiety. "Yeah, shoot."

_"Can you come by my place and check on Patrick? He's feeling down lately after-"_

_Patrick is at Joe's._  Holy shit he just found Patrick. He holds his phone between his shoulder and ear and clasps his hands together in a prayer. _A big fucking thank you to whoever's up there!_

_"-and I'm sure seeing you would cheer him up. So, can you?"_

"Yeah!" He exclaims with a little too much enthusiasm. "I mean, yeah. Sure."

_"Great. I'm heading out to the grocery store, so just make yourself at home."_

Without waiting to end the call, he tosses his phone on the couch and sprints to the bathroom. If he's going to see and talk to Patrick again, _single_ Patrick, then he needs to look good.

Besides, he promised Pete that he'd _try_ to talk to Patrick, not get them back together.

-

He adjusts the glasses on his face and clears his throat. Okay. He can do this. It's just Patrick. When they see each other, they'll go back to how they used to again. There won't be any awkward moment between them, he's sure of it.

Raising his fist to the door, he raps his knuckles on it and waits for the door to open. He hears faint footsteps from the inside getting louder as it approaches the door, and he sucks in a breath.

_"Fuck, Joe. Did you forget your keys again?"_

The door unlocks with a click and swings open. Brendon's mouth goes dry when he sees Patrick in front of him, wrapped up in a thick blanket with his face flushed, sniffling and coughing.

Patrick doesn't seem to notice him as he has turned around, the edge of the blanket sweeping over the floor behind him. "Did you get the cough syrup?"

"Patrick." His voice trembles, feeling a sharp pang in his chest at the sight of his best friend. When was the last time they see each other?

He can see the way Patrick's body stiffens under the blanket, and the older man slowly turns around, his eyes bloodshot from… Cold? Fever? Flu? "What are you doing here?"

"I- I don't know."

Patrick arches an eyebrow, the blankets shifting. Brendon can tell from the outline that Patrick is crossing his arms. Not awkward. Right. "Can I come in?"

"Do whatever you want. It's not my place."

Not awkward at all.

He enters Joe's apartment and closes the door gently behind him. To dissipate the tension between them, he smiles at Patrick, even though he's shaking on the inside. "Did you play in the rain without me?"

Patrick sniffles again and rubs his nose with the blanket, then hugs it tight to his chest, not meeting his eyes. Brendon sighs. This is going nowhere. "Patrick-"

"Look, I get it, okay?" Patrick looks down at the floor, his voice, although hoarse, is tinged with hurt that it _pains_ Brendon to hear it. It pains him even more knowing that he's the reason behind it. "I know when I'm not needed. I know when I'm not wanted. I'm not stupid."

His stomach drops at Patrick's words. "Patrick, what-"

"I know how to take a hint. If you don't want to be friends anymore, then just say so." Patrick finally looks up at him, his eyes puffy and glazed, and, _shit._ He really screwed this up. "You didn't have to leave me hanging, wondering if- if I ever did or said something wrong. Just come clean, and-"

Patrick starts to sniffle, and Brendon feels like the shittiest person on Earth ever lived, even though the sniffling is just from Patrick's cold. "-and I'll leave you alone. We don't have to see each other anymore, if that's what you want."

That's not at all what he wants.

Tears begin to prickle at the back of his eyes. "Patrick, I- I didn't-" He closes his mouth as his friend rubs his eyes. How is he going to explain to Patrick that he kept his distance because he wanted to get rid of his feelings for the older man? How is he going to explain to Patrick that even after a month, the feeling doesn't lessen a single bit?

"I'm sorry." He finishes helplessly. "I just- I-"

He can't. He can't come up with any excuse to explain himself. He just stares at Patrick, who's still sniffling and rubbing his eyes. He opens his mouth again. "Patrick, I'm sorry. I'm a shitty friend. I- I shouldn't do that to you. It's not fair for me to take everything out on you."

Patrick drops his hands from his face, and if possible, his eyes just got puffier from all the rubbing. "Will you at least tell me why you've been ignoring me?"

"I-" Because he's in love with him. "I'm sorry."

"Was it something I did?"

Brendon stares at his feet. It's not Patrick's fault. It never is in the first place. It's not his fault that his best friend fell in love with him. When he glances back up, he sees hurt flash across Patrick's face, and it dawns on him that he takes a long time to answer him.

"Okay." Patrick says, his voice tight, just on the verge of breaking. "Okay. It's nice knowing you."

 _Fuck._ "Patrick, I-"

The front door opens, interrupting him, and Brendon turns to see Joe coming in with bags of groceries in both of his hands.

"Oh, hey, Brendon!" Joe greets him, smiling, as he bumps their shoulders together before moving to the kitchen. "Wanna have dinner with us? I'm making brisket."

Brendon smiles back at him. Joe's brisket is quite possibly the best one he's ever tasted. Just as he opens his mouth to accept the invitation, Patrick has already answered for him. "He's about to leave. He has other plans tonight."

He snaps his neck to look at Patrick, his heart stopping as a lump starts to form in his throat. Patrick's not looking at him. His gaze is downcast, and his shoulders are hunched, arms crossed tight against his chest.

Hurt and guilt loom over him. He pushed Patrick away, and now Patrick's returning the favour. This is not what he wants. He just wants for the feelings to subside a bit before he can talk or see or hang out with Patrick without wanting to kiss him or thinking of fucking him every few seconds.

He doesn't want to hurt Patrick. _He didn't mean to hurt him._

"Well, that sucks." Joe comments from the kitchen, either ignoring or oblivious to the tension hanging in the atmosphere. "I'll keep some for you anyway. I know how much you like 'em. Just drop by tomorrow."

"Y- Yeah." His voice cracks, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat. "I already have a plan. Sorry, Joe. Thanks."

"I'm going back to sleep." Patrick mumbles before turning on his heels, walking to the direction to, presumably, his room. Brendon stares at his best friend's retreating back, feeling like his heart just got squeezed and twisted and stomped on repeatedly. "Bye, Patrick. I- I'll see you soon."

The silence that he gets shreds what's left of his heart into dust.

-

That didn't go well. He didn't expect for Patrick to act so cold. He'd never been on the end of it, and he doesn't like it, if he has to be honest. But, whatever happens, he'll make Patrick warm up to him again.

He checks over his text for the umpteenth time, and once satisfied, he taps on send.

_To: Patrick_  
_20:12:09_  
_I'm sorry i ignored you. Can we be friends again?_

Pulling out a stool from the counter, he sits on it and places his phone on the top, waiting impatiently for it to vibrate with a reply. Patrick will reply. Patrick will come around. He's sure of it. Patrick never leaves him hanging.

But _he_ left _Patrick_ hanging.

He crosses his legs on the stool and frowns. He'll do everything to get his forgiveness back. Maybe it's a stupid move to ignore him completely when Sarah had explicitly told him not to. He did more than what she told him to. He blatantly avoided Patrick instead of being subtle about it. He folds his arms on the counter and rests his chin on them, still eyeing the phone.

What if Patrick doesn't reply? What if Patrick cuts him off from his life entirely? End their friendship? Would Patrick act like he doesn't know him the next time they meet? Would Patrick want to talk him still? Would Patrick even want to-

He nearly wobbles to the floor when his phone vibrates, hand reaching out to grab it.

_From: Patrick_  
_20:20:54_  
_Are you going to ignore me again?_

He can feel the hurt, and the sass, from his reply. He lifts his phone and immediately calls Patrick, who picks up on the second ring.

_"Well?"_

"I'm sorry." He apologizes, though his whole body warms up after hearing Patrick's voice. "It's not you-"

_"Really, Brendon? Are you really going to pull the 'It's not you, it's me' crap on me?"_

"No!" Brendon squawks out in panic and denial. To be honest, he really was going to use that line. "I had a very… _personal_ problem."

_"So you thought it would be better to take it out on me?"_

He falls quiet. What is he supposed to say to that? He can't flat out tell Patrick the real reason why. He hears Patrick sigh, the sound intensifying his guilt.

_"B, if you have any problems, you know you can always come talk to me or your friends. It's not healthy to keep everything inside."_

"'Msorry." He mumbles, a rush of relief flooding through him when Patrick doesn't sound mad anymore. "I won't do it again."

_"Good. How are you feeling now?"_

A grin forms on his face. Their relationship is good again. "Much better. I miss you, though."

When Patrick chuckles, Brendon swears he hears angels praying for him. Patrick is far too forgiving of a person that he feels he doesn't deserve his forgiveness after what he did to him.  _"Miss you too, chocolate."_

Yeah. _Definitely good._ "Are you still staying at Joe's? Don't you want to stay here?"

_"No, it's fine. Joe's going through something, so."_

"Can we meet up? I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages." Brendon asks, hope blooming in his chest. Now that Patrick's single, he can take him out on a _real_ date.

Which is just them hanging out like usual, but still.

_"Yeah. That'd be great, actually. I'll meet you at Starbucks tomorrow at nine? No, wait, the day after tomorrow?"_

"Awesome!" Brendon's grateful that he manages to bite back down _"It's a date!"_. "I'll see you then, strawberry."

_"I told you not to-"_

He hangs up before Patrick gets to finish his sentence, grinning. It's a fucking date and no one can fucking tell him otherwise.

-

Patrick is already at one of the tables in the corner when he arrives, just staring out at the streets through the windows. Brendon has to take a few deep breaths to calm his nerves, and once he doesn't feel frazzled, he fixes his jacket and glasses before walking to the table.

"Hey." He greets and slides down in the seat in front of Patrick, nervously smiling. Patrick smiles back, his chin resting in his hand. "Hey yourself. Have you ordered anything?"

"No. Wait here, I'll go order for us." Brendon stands back up, and at Patrick's protest, he just grins at him. "Just sit there and look pretty, strawberry. I'll be back before you know it."

Their maybe-date is starting off well. Patrick seems to have forgiven him after what happened, and there are no awkward tension hanging in the air. In fact, it's almost like the past month didn't even exist.

He pays for their drinks and heads back to the table. "So, what's up with you and Pete?" When Patrick opens his mouth, he adds with a stern voice, "And don't even bother lying. Pete came to me the other day."

Patrick's eyebrows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. "What did he say?"

"Not much. Just that you guys broke up." He looks at Patrick expectantly. "Well?"

Patrick chews on his bottom lip, seconds passing by between them before he answers. "I found a new black line on his wrist."

Suddenly, the conversation they had months ago in his kitchen comes to his mind. So it really was about Pete then?

"He- I don't know. He didn't keep it a secret from me. He showed me and told me about it, which, I don't know if it's a thoughtful or a stupid move-"

Stupid move.

"-but I was glad that he came clean rather than went around behind my back-"

Okay, he takes it back. It's a thoughtful move. But still stupid, nonetheless.

"-so I asked him who it was. And he said-" Patrick smiles bitterly and drags his hand down his face. "-he said that it was his ex. _His fucking ex._ He didn't love his ex before, and now he suddenly does? What was I supposed to think?"

Brendon's eyes widen. He didn't see _that_ coming. A new person, maybe. But certainly not an old flame.

"So I broke it off with him." Patrick sighs, slumping in his seat. "I mean, I know his ex, okay? He broke Pete's heart the last time they dated, and I helped him to get back on his feet. And- and now he _loves_ his ex? I don't even want to know what made him got the line. I just wanted to get the hell out of there. Four years wasted just like that."

Patrick glances down at his wrist, becoming quiet. He can't imagine how Patrick must had felt when they broke up. He knows that the first time Patrick got his black line was with a girl, when he was around 19 or 20. Patrick was so in love her that when he caught her cheating on him, he had been devastated.

He swore he'd be careful next time, and when Pete came into the picture, when Pete showed up as a black line on his wrist, Patrick didn't get together with him until a year later. He waited until he trusted Pete enough to not let his heart get broken again.

Four years later, it happened again.

"I'm sorry," Brendon says, feeling pity for the other. He knows how much Patrick loves Pete, but now that this happens…

Well, he's done his part to Pete. He's already talked to Patrick, and now he can properly ask Patrick out on a date.

"Eh. I'll get over it." Patrick shrugs, though his eyes are still sad, and their drinks arrive not a second later. Patrick thanks the waiter, even smiles at him.

His best friend is too kind, even when he's dealing with his own problems, he can still smile at others.

"Oh, that reminds me." Brendon perks up. "What happened to Joe? He seemed fine the other day."

"Joe's like that. He doesn't show his sadness to other people. That's one of the things I respect about him when he's not being a pain in the ass." They both laugh at that, and Patrick stirs his drink before continuing with a somber tone, "his mom got hospitalized, so he and his siblings have been collecting money to pay for the bills. I thought that if I stayed with him, I could pay half the rent and bills, so he can save more."

Honestly. Patrick is too kind, and this just reminds him why he fell in love with him in the first place. "Saint Patrick, what ever would we do without you?"

Patrick rolls his eyes and drinks his iced latte. "So. Anyway. I got something to tell you."

Please let it be a love confession. Brendon cracks a smile, nodding. "Yeah? What is it?"

"I'm thinking of furthering my studies. What do you think?"

"You mean you want to do master's?" Brendon asks for clarification, and he gets a nod in answer. "That's great! Do you have any university in mind?"

"Actually, I do." Patrick grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "I've been checking out some universities that offer master's in Music, and I'm really interested in this one programme. And it's at France, too!"

His shoulders droop a little. He knows Patrick has always wanted to travel far, and this is a perfect opportunity for him, but France is… France is far. It's in a whole another continent.

He quickly masks his expression with a smile. He really is happy for Patrick, though. That's no lie. "Have you applied for it yet?"

"Yeah, I have." Patrick nods with a smile, clearly excited for it with the way his eyes glint. "Hopefully I can get in. Then maybe I can send postcards to you guys. We'll definitely Skype every day. Oh, I've been surveying for apartments there, and I found a few just, like, ten minutes away-"

Seems like Patrick has everything planned out, and, while he's glad that Patrick is not hung up on Pete and moving on with his life, he does feel somewhat crushed at the possibility of Patrick leaving him.

-

"Dallon's getting famous, isn't he?" Patrick muses out loud as they enter the club together, both immediately overwhelmed by the large crowd.

"Uh huh." Brendon bounces on his feet excitedly and grabs Patrick's hand, and, just like last time, slinks their way to the backstage where they meet Dallon and the rest of his band.

Instead of seeing them warming up, they are all looking at each other in panic. Even Spencer is.

"Hey, what's up?" Brendon asks, his voice faltering at the end of his sentence in worry and slight terror when everyone snaps their necks to look at him like a bunch of predators. He unconsciously pulls Patrick to his side. "W- What?"

"Perfect timing!" Dallon grabs a nearby guitar and forces him to take it. "You're subbing tonight."

It takes five seconds for his mind to catch up with what's happening, and when he finally does, he shoves the guitar back to Dallon, his eyes bulging in panic. "No! Dallon, you know I can't-"

"Darren can't make it tonight. Brendon, we really need you to play," Dallon says, looking at him pleadingly. Brendon shakes his head vehemently, his eyes darting to Spencer standing near them. "Why not ask Spencer? He can play!"

"I play drums, not guitars." Spencer shakes his head. Everyone is looking at him now, and Brendon starts to freak out. This isn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to go backstage, wish the band good luck, and _enjoy_ the show with _Patrick_.

Not _play_ the show in front of _everyone._

Wait. Patrick.

Brendon tugs on Patrick's arm, catching his attention. "Patrick can play guitar!"

Patrick furrows his eyebrows. "Even if I can, I don't know how to play their songs."

"Brendon, come on." Dallon holds the guitar out to him. "You came to our practice all the time. You know all the notes. You even played a couple of times before."

_Only because there were no people watching them._

"Brendon, please. I wouldn't ask you if I knew you couldn't do it." Dallon's voice turns gentle as he coaxes him to take the guitar. Brendon bites his lip, glancing at everyone. Each one of them is waiting for his answer, even Patrick is, and his stomach churns as he hesitantly takes the guitar from Dallon.

Dallon visibly relaxes and sighs in relief, then pulls him into a brief hug. "I owe you. Just name anything you want, and I'll buy for you."

"The setlist is taped to the floor, so you don't have to worry about which songs to play first." Before the taller man walks away to get his bass, he reminds him, "The show starts in an hour, so you still have time to warm up."

Everyone goes back to their equipments, and Spencer pats him on the back, wishing him luck before exiting the backstage. He stares at the guitar in his hands.

Can he really do it? Can he play in front of a crowd? Can he play without missing a single note? Can he play without embarrassing himself and Dallon's band? Can he play without fainting?

Oh, God, he feels like throwing up.

He briskly walks further backstage where there's a secluded empty space and leans the guitar against the wall. He slides down beside it, knees pulled up to his chest, and rests his forehead on them, rocking back and forth.

He can do it. He can do this. He can do this for Dallon and the band. It's just guitar. It's just an hour set.

_It's just a hundred fucking people._

He gulps down his breaths trying to stay quiet, but they come out as uncontrollable whimpers. He can't do it. He can't do it. _He can't do it._

A pair of arms are wrapped around him, and he withdraws into himself. "I- I can't do it. I can't do it."

"Of course you can." Patrick murmurs into his hair. "You can do anything."

Brendon shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut so hard he can feel pain in his skull. "I'm s- scared."

"C'mere, B." At Patrick's request, he leans slightly towards the older man, but he still keeps his arms around himself. Patrick starts humming softly in his ear, his hand smoothing over his hair before sliding down to his arm. His muscles begin to slacken, breathing and heartbeat slowly returning steady as Patrick's voice quiets his mind, almost lulling him.

_"My Brenny lies over the ocean…"_

His voice is like a warm fleece blanket, wrapping him in that soft and fuzzy feeling and making him feel calm and safe, protecting him from the monsters creeping out in his closet and under the bed and the back of his mind.

_"My Brenny lies over the sea…"_

He used to get frequent nightmares when he was little, and more often times than not, he hid under his blanket, shaking in fear, as if the monsters would jump out anytime from the darkness and drag him to Monsterville and eat him.

When it got too much for him, he'd just let out a scream, and his mom would come rushing into his room and kneel by his bedside. Her soft and cool fingers would brush over his scalp as she sang lullabies to him, and he'd instantly feel safe until sunlight came in through his windows.

He still remembers the first time he got scared when he slept over at the Stumph's.

_Everyone else had already retreated to bed after eleven, the household eerily dark and quiet to his four year-old mind. Patrick was sleeping soundly next to him, hugging a small pillow to his chest. Brendon looked to the windows and pulled his blanket up to the bridge of his nose._

_He couldn't see the moon and the stars in the navy sky. All he could see was heavy clouds, hovering high above the neighbourhood. Under any circumstances, he would get excited, because he got to play in the rain with Patrick._

_But not in the middle of the night when it's cold and dark and spooky and Patrick's sleeping._

_His attention shifted to the closet in the room; slightly ajar and completely dark inside. His fingers clutched onto his blanket tight as his heart beat fast in his chest._

_Would the monster jump out and eat them both? With its sharp and bloodied fangs and long and dirty claws, slicing them into small pieces before mixing them together in a pan or a bowl or turning them into spaghetti sauce to feed a poor family of monsters because they couldn't afford to pay for school that teaches how to hunt humans._

_He whimpered softly and pulled his blanket over his head before burrowing himself to Patrick's side, trembling. Patrick stirred from his sleep, dazed and confused. "Brendon?"_

_"Don't let the monsters eat us." Brendon squeaked out as he covered his face with his hands, curling himself up into a small ball. "Tell them to eat my veggies. Not us."_

_His trembling lessened when he felt a cool hand on his back. "They're not going to eat us, Bren. Don't worry."_

_Brendon pulled his blanket down to look at Patrick, his eyes wide and scared as he looked around in frantic. "H- how can you be so sure?"_

_Patrick let out a sigh and sat up on the bed. Brendon mimicked him, curious at what Patrick wanted to do, and his face blanched when the older boy got out of bed. His hand shot out of the blanket to pull him back. "W- Where are you going?"_

_"Relax, Bren." Patrick smiled at him, as reassuring as he could be in his sleepy state. "I'm just gonna tell them to not eat us."_

_Brendon nodded, hesitant, as he watched Patrick padded over to the closet. The older boy peeked his head inside, and Brendon stiffened, his skin raising with goosebumps._

_"Mr Monster." Patrick called out quietly into the closet. "Please don't eat us, okay? We just wanna sleep."_

_Patrick pulled his head back after a few seconds, and Brendon's shoulders dropped slightly, relieved that the monster hadn't chomped Patrick's head off. However, he tensed up again when Patrick poked his head back in._

_"And please tell your friend to not eat my friend when he goes back to his room. Thank you."_

_Brendon shot up in the bed and wrestled with the blanket that had somehow gotten tangled up around his legs, and crawled to the edge of the bed where Patrick sat on. Patrick wrapped his arm around his shoulders and smiled. "There. The monster promised he won't bother us. And his friend will find other places to live. You're safe now, Bren."_

_He melted under Patrick's comforting touch. He shyly looked up at the older boy and bit his lip. "What about under the bed? Will the monster leave too?"_

_Patrick slid off the bed and down to the floor before kneeling down to look under the bed. Brendon kept both his feet away from the edge and hugged his knees to his chest, watching Patrick._

_"Mr Monster, please don't scare my friend. He's the nicest person on Earth." Patrick whispered. "Tell the other monsters to leave him alone, please? Thank you, Mr Monster."_

_When Patrick got back on the bed, lying on his side, Brendon went to lie beside him, his blanket cocooning him. Patrick turned to him and smiled. "Okay now?"_

_Brendon nodded shakily. He's still a little scared, though. He just wanted his mom there to sing to him. "C- Can you sing me something?"_

_Even though Patrick looked perplexed at his request, he still agreed. "Sure. What do you want me to sing?"_

_"I'unno." Brendon mumbled as he brought his thumb to his mouth. "Anything's fine."_

_"What about 'Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean'?"_

_Brendon hadn't heard that song before, but at the moment, he just wanted to sleep. He didn't care if he's familiar with it or not. "Sure."_

_He began to close his eyes as Patrick hummed quietly and ran his fingers through his hair._

_"My Bonnie lies over the ocean…"_

And, over time, Patrick had changed the name to his, and it has become his number one go-to comfort song ever since.

_"Oh, bring back my Brenny to me…"_

"You'll do just fine, Bren." Patrick encourages him. "You won't be alone on stage. Dallon will be with you."

Brendon lifts his head and sighs, sullen. "What if I screwed up on stage? What if I screwed up for the whole band? What if I let Dallon down?"

What if he let _Patrick_ down?

"What if you don't?"

He huffs out a laugh and stretches his legs out in front of him, head thumped back against the wall. "You're too optimistic, strawberry."

Brendon ducks his head and laughs, his hands flailing around when Patrick ruffles his hair. "I just believe in you, B. We all do. You can do anything."

"Come on. Let's go back to Dallon." Patrick heaves himself up and offers his hand to Brendon, who takes it gratefully. Brendon grabs the guitar and slings it over his shoulder.

Before they walk back to where the band is, Brendon turns Patrick around, earning a questioning look from the other. "Can you stand at the side of the stage later?"

"What?" Patrick blinks. Brendon squeezes his hand and whispers, "Please."

"O- Okay." The older man nods, returning the gesture assuringly. "Sure. Come on."

-

They're on in less than a minute, and the crowds are already chanting the band's name. Brendon peeks from the side, overwhelmed at the number of masses, and he draws his head back, taking deep breaths. He can do this.

"You ready?" Dallon pats his shoulder. Brendon nods as he adjusts the guitar strap and double-checks that the guitar is connected to the amp. "Yeah."

"Good. Come on, it's show time." The taller man walks out to the center of the stage, greeting the crowds, and the rest of the members follow behind and stand at their places. Before he can join them, Patrick stops him and takes his glasses off.

Brendon squints his eyes and blinks repeatedly until everything doesn't seem like a total blurry mess. Just partial blurry mess.

"There. Now you can't see the crowd." Patrick grins up at him and shoves him lightly to the stage. "Good luck, B."

When he finally gets on the stage, he's surprised to find that he can't see anything past the first few rows. The nervous feeling begins to wane away, and he shoots Patrick a quick grin and mouths a _'Thank you'_ before the band starts playing.

It isn't as scary as he thought it would be, and he's actually having fun. He can feel the energy from the crowd bouncing to the stage, and it withers the last of his nerves as he moves around, exchanging places with the other members and interacting with Dallon and even the crowd.

And every time he glances at Patrick from the corner of his eyes, Patrick never once stops cheering for him.

His grin stays wide throughout the set, and as soon as they finish, he hands the guitar to the nearest person and jumps into Patrick's arms, who struggles to catch him and balance himself at the same time.

"I did it! Patrick, I did it!"

He can feel Patrick vibrate from laughter, and the arms around him tighten. "I knew you can do it."

He closes his eyes and buries his face in Patrick's neck, smiling. He couldn't have done it without him in the first place. "Thank you."

-

Brendon wakes up from his nap when he hears a faint sound in the apartment, and he sits up on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He sluggishly walks to the mini-studio, used to be his room before Patrick moved out, and finds Patrick sitting by the keyboard, playing a tune to himself, his eyes closed with a relaxed smile on his face.

He's always loved seeing Patrick like this. Patrick looks like the definition of serenity, and it gives him peace just watching him.

He walks into the room and sits next to Patrick, making sure not to startle him and keeping his voice down. "What are you playing?"

"I heard it on the radio once. And I've been trying to play it on the piano ever since."

"Do you know the lyrics?" Brendon looks at him, curious. It would be nice to know the lyrics that go along with the beautiful melody. Patrick nods as he continues to play.

 _"Here we are, together…"_ Patrick begins to sing softly, his voice sending goosebumps on Brendon's skin. It's not a bad thing, far from it, even. He has always loved it when Patrick sings. Patrick may put himself down whenever he sings, and he even goes as far as singing badly on purpose during karaoke so people won't comment how he sings, but when they're in this situation, when it's just the two of them alone, when Patrick lets his guard down and _really_ sings, it's like he's a whole different person.

_"Would you catch me if I fall for you?_  
_'Cause I'm falling…"_

Always. He would gladly catch him with his arms wide open, protect him, care for him. Love him. There's nothing he wouldn't do for Patrick. Patrick has done a lot for him in the past that there's no way he could repay for everything.

Patrick was his first friend. Patrick was his first _best_ friend. Patrick kept him company when all his siblings were busy. Patrick made him feel safe whenever he's scared. Patrick stayed friends with him throughout school years even with their three years gap, keeping deaf ears to the other kids who called him a _loser_ for hanging out with a _baby._ Patrick, who was already a senior, stood up for him countless times in high school when he was getting bullied as a freshman. Patrick taught him everything he needed to know about surviving high school before the older boy had to leave for college, leaving him to fend for himself.

Patrick made him feel safe and happy, and he intends to do the same thing. He wants to make Patrick feel safe and happy and _loved_ in return.

_"Will you promise to be there?_  
_Stay by my side always?"_

A vomit of words are stuck in his throat, unable to make it past his lips. He wants to answer him. Always, now, and forever. He will promise anything. He will never leave his side.

_"If I give you my all_  
_Don't let me fall_  
_Would you do that for me?_  
_Hold me?_  
_Will you love me?"_

The melody slowly fades out as Patrick lifts his fingers from the last keys and rests his hands on his lap before looking up at him with a smile. "It's a pretty good song, right?"

"Yes." His heart skips. Yes, he won't let him fall. Yes, he would do everything for him. Yes, he would hold him. Yes, he will love him. "Y- yeah, it's a pretty good song."

"I know. I mean, I do have a pretty good taste in music after all." Patrick smirks. Brendon chuckles and shakes his head, positioning his fingers over the keys. "You're getting cocky, strawberry. Let me show you how _awesome_ taste in music sounds like."

"Oh, please. If anything, _you're_ the one getting cocky." Patrick retorts back with a light shove of the shoulder, but the corner of his lips quirks up, and Brendon has to take a second to admire him.

"Let's play together," Patrick says, already pressing down on the keys, setting up a slow melody. "We haven't done that in a long time."

"Yeah." Brendon smiles back, harmonizing with Patrick, his mind already conjuring up a plan for something grand. Something that may change their lives forever.

-

One of the many, _many_ things that he likes since Patrick's break up is, well, _everything._ But, really, he likes that he doesn't have to feel guilty to think they're on a date every time they hang out. He can now go on _actual_ dates with Patrick!

And that song the other day? It can't be coincidence. Patrick sings with his _heart,_ so that has got to be some sort of sign that he's good to go.

And he's good to go indeed. He fixes his hair one last time before scanning over his look in the mirror. Hair washed and blow dried, contacts in, new red shirt on, as well as a pair of black jeans, and a pair of boots.

_Something's missing._

He runs to his closet and takes out a blazer that has never seen the daylight since almost a year ago. After putting it on, he looks over his reflection again and smiles in satisfaction. Then, he sprays on some cologne and grabs his phone, wallet, and keys on his way out.

_From: Patrick_  
_09:40:58_  
_You already there?_

_To: Patrick_  
_09:41:06_  
_On my way. You?_

_From: Patrick_  
_09:41:15_  
_Same. See you soon_

He slides his phone in the pocket of his jeans and makes his way to his car, his nerves buzzing with excitement. He's going to make sure their date go smoothly, and then…

…and then he's going to confess.

-

"Looking dashing today, aren't we?" Patrick teases him after he walks into an Italian restaurant and takes his seat. Brendon smiles, blushing a little. "You're not that bad yourself."

Patrick laughs and opens the menu in front of him. "So, why Italian? We always go to Starbucks."

Because it's romantic.

The blush on his face darkens, and Brendon is glad for the dim lighting; it hides his blush easily and sets the mood right for their date. He flips the menu and scans over it. "Why not?"

The older man shrugs. "It's nice. Something new for a change."

"And you like change?" Brendon props his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his laced fingers, grinning.

Patrick mimics his action, his eyes twinkling under the golden light. "Maybe."

"May I take your orders, gentlemen?"

Brendon reluctantly tears his gaze away from a grinning Patrick and tells the waiter his orders before Patrick does the same. He likes how the waiter addresses them both. Makes him feel like he's an intellectual and a mature person.

Makes him feel like they're a real couple.

It's just fifteen minutes in, and odds are already in his favour.

-

"You know you don't have to pay for me, right?" Patrick questions him, lips quirked up in amusement as they walk out of the restaurant and into the streets. There's a reason why he picked that particular restaurant for their date: the park is within a walking distance, which is where the big part comes to play.

For now, they're just going to walk around and enter any shops on their way to the park. There are many shops on the street; bookstore, record store, antique shop.

See? He has everything in hand.

"You can pay for the next one." He cheekily replies, which earns him a chuckle from the older man. "Yeah? What if I decide to eat at a cheap diner?"

Brendon throws his arm around Patrick's shoulders. "Hey, as long as you're paying, I'm fine with anything."

And as long as they're together.

"Of course." Patrick elbows him in the ribs playfully, and his face turns excited when they stop in front of record store. "Come on. Let's go in for a bit." He beams, dragging him into the store.

He can feel his cheeks warming up at the contact. Sure, they've held hands before, but not _actual_ ones. Not like his hand in Patrick's as the older man navigates them in the store. Not like his hand in Patrick's as the older man browses through the vinyl records with one hand.

They're _actually_ holding hands.

His hand twitches. He wants to lace their fingers together and run his thumb over his knuckles, but he doesn't. Instead, he lets Patrick hold his hand as he continues to flip over the records, occasionally asking him opinions here and there and rattling off some random trivia about the record or the artist.

He's happy enough just the way it is.

-

They spent almost an hour in the store, looking at all the records. Well, Patrick did. He spent an hour marvelling at the fact that Patrick was holding his hand. Scratch that, _is._

Because he still is, even when they're walking down the street, talking and laughing. Brendon doesn't mind; the odds are getting bigger and bigger by the second.

Patrick's phone begins to ring, and when he picks it up and walks a few feet away to answer, Brendon already misses the warmth on his hand. Patrick looks at him in apology while talking on the phone, and Brendon smiles at him, reassuring him that it's okay.

He looks around the street while waiting for Patrick to finish with his call, and he finds an old woman sitting in front of a shop with buckets of flowers surrounding her. The old woman smiles at him, gesturing him to come closer. He strolls over to her, curious and amazed at the colourful flowers.

"Would you like to buy one for the mister?" She nods to the direction behind him, and he starts to flush. "Um. We- we're not- really-"

"A red rose, perhaps?" The woman picks up a stem and lifts it to him, still smiling. He stares at the rose uncertainly. Should he buy it?

It would be a perfect addition to his plan.

"Yeah, sure. I'll take it." He fishes his wallet out and pays for the rose, all the thorns removed. He takes the flower from the old woman, gently tracing at the velvety petals.

"Red roses signify love." The woman explains, and Brendon nods; he knows the meaning of red roses. Everyone does. "But a single red rose means _they are the one._ "

Brendon looks at her, surprised. He doesn't know the number of roses also has their own meaning.

"I wish you the best, young man." She smiles kindly before sitting back down on the small stool. Brendon takes another glance at Patrick, still on the phone, then looks back at the flower in his hand.

He can do this.

He thanks the woman and carefully tucks the flower into the pocket inside his blazer, then walks back to Patrick, who beams up at him as he approaches.

Yeah. He definitely can.

-

"No, really!" Patrick holds his sides in laughter as they stroll through the park. "Joe did that! He fell off the treadmill! It was so hilarious I felt bad for laughing at him."

Brendon wipes the stray tears from the corner of his eyes from laughing too hard at Patrick's tale of when he and Joe decided to go to the gym. "Oh, man. I'd pay to see that."

"So, now, every time Joe brings up something embarrassing about me, I just tell him this story." Patrick grins before looking up at the sky when it thunders. The grey clouds start to drizzle lightly, and not soon before long, it quickly turns into a pouring rain, the battering sound echoing throughout the park.

His eyes soften when Patrick tilts his face to the sky, a small smile carved on his lips as the older man lets the rain fall onto his face.

This is it. He's really going to confess to Patrick after all these years. He won't back down this time. The rain falling is just _perfect_ for the situation. Rain has always been their best friend, and it washes away everything for a fresh start.

And then maybe they can have their first kiss under the rain, too. It's going to be so romantic, all the cliches in rom-com movies will have nothing against it, and it's going to be fucking amazing.

"Patrick." Brendon calls out his name softly, just loud enough to be heard over the drumming of the rain, and his stomach does a somersault when Patrick opens his eyes to him, smiling. "Brendon."

God, he's so beautiful it's like he's falling in love all over again.

He fidgets for a short second, his hand flying to wipe the rainwater from falling into his eyes, then clears his throat. "I have something to tell you."

Patrick's face falls, turning serious, but he quickly replaces with smile. "I have something to tell you too. But you go first."

"No, you go first." Brendon insists, his heart pounding against his chest in anticipation and nervousness, wondering what news Patrick has for him.

"Well," Patrick shoots him a nervous grin, and even though he's beginning to shiver from the cold rain, his body just warms up at the smile. "Remember the music programme I told you last time? I got in. I'm gonna do my master's in France."

"That's amazing!" Brendon congratulates him, though he does feel saddened at the news. Patrick's going to be in another continent for _at least_ two years, away from him, and there's a possibility that he may fall in love with someone there.

He shakes his head. There's also a possibility that Patrick may fall in love with him even if he's far away.

"So, um." Brendon clears his throat. It's his turn now, and he doesn't know what to say. He wants to make it perfect for both of them. He doesn't want to mess this up. He doesn't want to mess everything up. He doesn't want to mess _them_ up.

Remembering the red rose he bought earlier kept safely inside his blazer, he takes it out from the pocket, making sure it's hidden from Patrick's view. "Patrick, I-"

A flash of bright light pierces through the dark sky, and the rumbling thunder that follows drowns out every sound and noise.

But Brendon hears everything loud and clear.

"Pete asked me to marry him."

The red rose slips through his fingers and falls to the paved pathway underfoot, the petals getting wet from the puddle. Rain continues to fall, pelting the small flower with a thousand needles.

Like his heart.

Brendon's throat closes up. "W- What?"

"Pete." Patrick repeats, his eyes squeezed shut as his hands form small fists by his side. "He asked me to marry him last week."

"What-" He takes a second to breathe. Suddenly it's getting hard for him to swallow. _Last week? Patrick has been meeting Pete?_ "What did you say?"

"I told him to give me time," Patrick says, his eyes opening, revealing something that Brendon doesn't dare to put a name to. "He said that he's really sorry for everything. That even if he has a hundred black lines, I'd still be the one for him."

Brendon rubs his face to clear off the rain and looks back to Patrick. "A- And? What's your answer?"

When Patrick lifts his gaze to him, Brendon's heart breaks.

"What do you think I should say, Brendon?" Patrick sounds helpless, vulnerable, his eyes grey in desperation. Brendon tries to swallow, but a choke comes out instead.

He can just tell Patrick a flat out no, and then he'll confess his feelings to Patrick, like the original plan he has in mind. He may have a chance at getting together with him after years of loving him in silence. He may have a chance at everything with Patrick if Patrick says no to Pete's proposal.

He licks his lips. Pete had his chance, and he threw it away. And Brendon isn't going to throw his.

When he lifts his hand to push his hair back, the line on his wrist captures his attention.

_Red._

His heart sinks to the stomach and down to his feet. What was he thinking? He'll never have a chance with Patrick. That's why he never tells him his feelings all this time. No matter what, they're never meant to be together. They grew up as best friends, and that's all they will ever be.

That's _all_ he will ever be to Patrick.

"You should-" Brendon clears his throat, and he winces at the lump inside, "-you should say yes. I can see that he loves you. And I know you still love him."

"Really?" Patrick looks up at him. "You- you want me to say yes?"

"Yeah." Brendon tries to put on a smile on his face, but even the slightest quirk up feels like lifting an anchor. Nevertheless, he keeps up with the mask. "And don't forget to put me in the same table as you on your wedding."

"Brendon…" Patrick's voice becomes small. "Really? Are you sure?"

Brendon nods and wipes his face again. It's only then he realizes that he's crying, the tears mixing together with the rain on his face. They keep falling and falling, no matter how much he wants them to stop. He can't speak in fear that sobs will escape instead of words.

"Really?"

Brendon really wishes he hadn't looked into Patrick's eyes, because his mind and feelings are going into haywire. Under the heavy rain, Patrick's eyes are wet, and Brendon hopes that Patrick's crying, too. He hopes that Patrick's crying because he said yes. He hopes that Patrick wants him to say no, so _he_ can say no. He hopes that Patrick's asking him all these questions so he can change his answer.

Above all, he hopes that Patrick has some feelings for him, even a little.

But he's had enough of hoping. It gets him nowhere, even at this moment.

 _Especially_ at this moment.

"Yeah. Marry him." Brendon forces the words out, like the smile on his face, and when he shifts his foot, something crunches under his soaked shoe. He lifts his leg and chuckles through his tears. _Fuck it all to hell._

The rose is completely crushed flat against the pavement.

"Brendon." Patrick stares at the crushed rose, his mouth agape. "Is that-"

"Don't worry about it." Brendon cuts him mid-sentence and kicks the flower to the side, watching it getting stained with mud. "Go. Call Pete. Meet him. Give him your answer."

"Brendon…"

He knows he's being harsh, but he also knows that Patrick's happier if he's with Pete. The past few weeks have been amazing for him. If he thinks back to everything they did together, he can easily imagine that they're in a relationship.

It's a nice preview, but that's all he can afford. He doesn't have enough for the whole package.

"He loves you." Brendon finds himself saying the words. This is the only way he can confess when he's already told Patrick to get back with Pete. He's going to regret if he didn't, so what better time to confess than now? His heart is already shattered, may as well grind it to dust.

At least it'll save him from future heartbreaks.

"He's always smiling when you're together. Always calm when you're around. He just brightens up when you laugh. Everyone can see how in love he is with you.

He wipes his face again, his body shivering either from the cold or in silent sobs. He doesn't care anymore. "And there's no way he doesn't love you. You always laugh at every joke everyone tells you because you don't want them to feel silly when no one does. You always put others first. You like making people happy. You apologize for everything, even the things that are not your fault. You help everyone, even strangers, and you never expect anything in return.

His chest heaves slowly, and he blinks to get rid of the tears in his eyes. When he continues his confession, his voice breaks. "And I bet you that there's not a single day where you don't cross his mind."

Something flickers in Patrick's eyes, but Brendon's done guessing and wondering what it is. He's done with everything. "Say yes to him."

"Brendon…"

Brendon takes a step back and shoves his hands into the pockets of blazer. "Tell me how it goes later."

He turns around and walks away, ignoring his soaked socks sloshing in his shoes with each step. Everything feels heavy. His blazer. His shirt. His jeans.

His heart.

So much for a fresh start.

"Brendon, wait!" When Patrick pulls him back by the elbow, he keeps his gaze on his shoes. He can't bring himself to look at him in the eyes. "You said you have something to tell me. What is it?"

Brendon shakes his head as a bitter smile forms on his face. "It's nothing. It's not important anyway."

Patrick is persistent, though. He tugs on his elbow again, his voice has a hint of desperation behind it. "Brendon, it's not nothing. Tell me. Please."

Why? So he can break his heart again? Brendon pries Patrick's hand off and shoves them back into his pockets, then turns away. "I had a really great time today. Thanks."  
  
"Was the rose meant for me?"

Brendon swallows. His eyes have started to water again, and he waits to answer until he's sure that his voice won't crack again. He tilts his head back to look at Patrick and fakes a grin. "No. Spence borrowed my blazer the other day. He probably forgot about it."

"Brendon-"

"Bye, Patrick. Congratulations on your music programme and Pete."

This time, he quickly leaves before Patrick can stop him again. He doesn't look back, not even a single glance, because he knows that if he does, he's just going to break down.

Everything's over, and he only has himself to blame.

-

He sits under the running shower, the hot water warming him up through his rain-soaked clothes. His body feels beaten up and numb at the same time, and he just wants to sleep, keep his thoughts away from what happened at the park earlier. In fact, he wants to forget it all.

He'd thought that he'd experienced heartbreak before, but this one makes everything seem nothing but a small prick of the pin in comparison.

His breathing gets shaky until it's hard for him to breathe, and it takes him a moment to realize that he's sobbing again. He tries to keep it down, tries not to cry, because he doesn't cry over heartbreaks. He doesn't cry over love. And he doesn't want to cry over Patrick. They aren't even together in the first place, so why does it feel like a break up? Why does it have so much pain?

Wiping his eyes, he gets back up on his feet, taking all his clothes off and letting the hot water run over him before he turns the shower off, standing still.

Because he loves him, and Patrick doesn't.

He rubs his eyes before the tears can fall again and grabs the towel hanging, drying himself and then wrapping it around him. After putting on a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, he gets under the sheet, curling himself up as small as possible as his eyelids flutter close, sleep easily overcoming him in his fatigued state.

When he wakes up the next morning and grabs his phone to check for the time, he sees an unread text message.

_From: Patrick_  
_07:10:31_  
_Can we talk?_

For the first time in his life, he deletes the text without replying.

-

He knows he can't stay at the apartment in the mean time. He needs to find some other place to stay, a place where he can clear his mind. A place where people can't find him. A place where _Patrick_ can't find him.

He's already packed up some clothes for a few days; he can just wash them if his stay becomes longer. Taking out his phone, he calls the only person whom he can turn to.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey." He greets quietly. "Do you have a room to spare?"

_"Yeah, definitely. What's up?"_

"Can I stay? Just, like, for a while."

_"Sure. Just come over. My door's always open."_

Brendon sighs in relief. "Awesome. I'm on my way."

-

Before he can knock on the door, it already swings open, revealing Sarah behind it. She steps aside to make way for him and closes the door after. "Okay, spill."

There's no hiding when it comes to her. She always seems to know what's bothering him, and even though it annoys him usually, in this situation, he couldn't be any more thankful. He needs someone to hear him out.

He throws his bag on the floor and sits on the couch, taking his glasses off and leaning his head back. The couch dips when Sarah sits down next to him. "Well?"

He licks his lips, trying to formulate words in his brain about yesterday's event. God, just thinking about it makes him feel like punching the wall until it cracks, or until his knuckles break. Or even both.

"I was planning to tell him about my feelings yesterday." He begins with a quiet voice. Sarah nods and gestures for him to continue. "He told me that he's going to France to continue his studies."

"That's good for him." She smiles, but Brendon can't bring himself to do the same. "Are you going to wait for him until he comes back?"

He ignores the question and hunches in on himself. "Then he told me that Pete proposed to him."

Sarah's small gasp fills the air. "Oh my god. Did he say yes?"

This is hard for him to talk about, especially when his words are caught by the lump in his throat. "He asked me-" he pauses to regain himself, blinking away the stinging pain in his eyes. "He asked me what to answer. Because he didn't know what to do."

"What did you say?"

Instead of answering, he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his fingers linking on the nape of his neck, keeping his head down and his breathing steady.

"Brendon." Sarah's voice is shaking, and she tugs on his arm. "Brendon, you didn't tell him to accept it, did you?"

Again, he doesn't answer. Was it a stupid move? Yes. And he regrets it so much. But it doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the fact that Patrick doesn't return his feelings.

" _Brendon._ "

"I did." He finally admits, his body growing warm and tense from holding back his tears. "He repeated the question a few times, like- like he's not sure. Like he wanted me to say no. I don't know. Maybe it's just me reading into things."

"Oh my god. _Brendon._ " Sarah grits her teeth, standing up and glaring at him. "That's because he wants you to! He wants you to say no! He wants you to tell him that you love him!"

"I don't care anymore, okay?!" Brendon explodes as he too stands up, the tears in his eyes on the verge of falling any second, but he wipes them away before they get the chance to. He quiets down when he sees the frightened look crossing Sarah's face. He's tired of thinking and dwelling about what he should have done. What it could've been. "The line is red. What difference would it make?"

"Even if it's red, Patrick still has some feelings for you," Sarah says softly, and she tentatively places a hand over his shoulder. When he doesn't make a motion to remove her hand, she continues. "Brendon, it's not impossible that he'll love you one day. He's on his way there. He just wants to make sure he's in the right direction."

And he blew it for both of them.

"Look, whatever." He shrugs Sarah's hand off and grabs his bag, heading off to the direction of the guest room. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. If anyone asks, I'm not here."

"Bren-"

"Especially Patrick. You don't know where I am."

"But-"

"This conversation is over."

-

_"B, call me back. I need to talk to you."_

_"Please pick up your phone, Brendon."_

Brendon sighs and puts his phone down. Those are two voicemails he received from Patrick. Patrick has called him a few times, but he just lets them go to voicemail, refusing to talk to him. He also doesn't reply to his texts since the other day.

This is better, he convinces himself. This is how it's supposed to be from the beginning. He shouldn't have taken Patrick out on that date. He shouldn't have tried to cross the line.

Because Patrick was never his to begin with, and he will never be.

He lays his back on the bed, picking up his phone again and going through his albums to delete some pictures and videos of him together with Patrick, but every time he stumbles across one, he can never bring himself to click on _Delete._

He opens another folder and sorts through it, checking one by one like before. When he sees a particular video dated a few months back, his body goes tense, and he sits up on the bed, clicking on the thumbnail and turning the volume up.

It's a video of them from a distance, walking side by side and having a conversation with each other drowned out by the music from the speakers playing in the background.

He remembers that moment like it happened yesterday. It started off with Patrick showing him how to walk and him goofing off, but it ended up being the best moment in his life.

_"Brendon Boyd Urie. You have always been that little annoying voice in my head that I can never get rid of, and frankly, I never want to get rid of it. You always know how to make me feel fine again, no matter how silly I look in the end."_

_"I was there for you even before you came to this world, and I will continue to do so until the end of time. Whenever you need me, I promise to stay by your side, always. And, no matter how much I dislike the name, I will forever be the strawberry to your chocolate."_

A heavy lump starts to grow in his throat. Sure, they were playing around, but Patrick's vow was _spontaneous._ He didn't take his time thinking up of one. He came up with it right on the spot.

And then it's his turn, which were really just Sinatra's lyrics that he had embedded in his mind. As soon as he said his vow, that's when he sees it.

In the video, there was a few seconds of silence after his vow, and it was just them staring at each other. Kevin was right. He can see it in the way he himself gazed into Patrick's eyes, the way his face softened, the way his body slackened. There's no explanation needed; a picture is worth a thousand words, but a video?

No wonder Kevin told him that everyone could see it, and now everyone in their family knew about him and the red line being Patrick. He presses the power button, watching the screen turn black.

At least Patrick doesn't know. And he will _never_ know.

His phone chimes with a notification, and when he opens it, his body suddenly feels heavier than ever before.

_From: Patrick_  
_20:44:37_  
_I did it. I said yes to him._

But the text that follows up makes his world come crashing down burning. He switches off his phone and hides it inside a drawer, then rolls over away from it. No matter how tired he feels, sleep doesn't come to him the entire night.

_From: Patrick_  
_20:45:13_  
_And he decided to come with me to France_

-

"B?"

Brendon looks up from the magazine he's reading to see Sarah standing in the doorway. "What?"

"I'm making lunch. What do you want?"

He shrugs before returning back to reading. "Not hungry."

It's true, though. He's not in the mood to eat lately. All he has for breakfast every day is coffee, and for lunch, he would either take a quick nap or drink even more coffee. As soon as he gets back from work, he would just shower before collapsing on the bed. There's nothing else in his routine but drink coffee, work, and sleep.

"You are not drinking any more coffee after this," Sarah says sternly, a glare fixed on her face. Brendon doesn't give a response, silently counting down the seconds until Sarah leaves the room.

"Fine. I'll cook for one, then." She huffs before leaving the room. Brendon lets out a sigh of relief and closes his eyes. He knows Sarah has been trying to get him out of the room other than for work, but he doesn't want to go anywhere. The room has become some sort of a safe place for him now. A comfort zone.

He lost count on how many days it has been since he switched his phone off. He doesn't take it out of the drawer once, because if he did, he would switch his phone back on and read all of Patrick's texts and listen to all his voicemails, and his walls would come crumbling down, leaving his heart open for hurt and pain again.

Sighing, he closes the magazine and places it beside him. The only thing he can do at the moment is sleep, and that's what he intends to do.

He opens his eyes when he hears a small quarrel from somewhere in the apartment. Recognizing the voices, he sits up on his bed immediately, stiffening.

_"Sarah, I know he's here. Let us talk to him."_

_"Dallon, I'm serious. Brendon isn't- Wait- Dallon!"_

Loud footsteps are getting closer as they approach his room, and before Brendon can gather enough sense to rush to the door and lock it, Dallon has already barged in, sweating and panting, followed by Spencer and Sarah a few seconds later.

Brendon stares up at his friend, his hands and feet going cold at the fury in his friend's eyes. "Dal-"

"What the fuck, Brendon?" Dallon clenches his jaw and strides to him, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him up. Brendon lets out a choked sound, unable to breathe, and he claws at Dallon's hands to let him go, but they tighten instead.

"Dal-" He gasps out. It's getting harder for him to breathe, and he can see black spots dancing in his eyes.

"Dallon, stop it!" Sarah runs to them and places his hands over Dallon's, tugging them down. When Dallon lets go of him, he drops to the bed, coughing and panting harshly while his hand rub at his neck.

After he catches his breath, he stands up and glares at Dallon, shoving him roughly backward. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You are a fucking asshole." Dallon seethes, his voice turning quiet that it scares Brendon to his feet. "Patrick's flight is in _an hour._ "

A sudden coldness hits him at the core, his muscles going rigid. "W- What?"

"His flight is in an hour." Dallon repeats himself, his glare intensifying. "And everyone's there but _you._ "

He turns his head away, pushing down the heavy feeling in his stomach. He didn't know Patrick's leaving that day. Leaving to go to further his studies.

_Leaving with Pete._

The heavy feeling is quickly replaced with a burning sensation. Patrick's back with Pete, so it doesn't matter if he's with him or not.

"Tell him to have a safe flight."

He brushes past Dallon's shoulder to get out of the crowded room, but is stopped when Spencer and Sarah block his way. He frowns at both of them. "Move. I'm not in the mood to deal with this shit with you guys."

Dallon grips him on the shoulder, turning him around, his face red with anger, but Brendon keeps his face poker and looks at the wall across the room. "He's your best friend! He's about to leave, and you don't even care!"

"Look, I don't know what fight you two had, but he clearly got over it. He was _frantic_ when you weren't there! Joe couldn't calm him down! Fuck, even _Pete_ couldn't calm him down!"

It's a lie. Dallon's just making it up to get him to go to the airport, but he's not going to fall for the trick. He's better than that.

"He kept asking for you," Spencer says this time, his voice holding far less anger than Dallon's. "Brendon, he really wants to see you before he leaves. You're not going to see each other for _at least_ two years after this. Are you really not going to see him one last time?"

It's better for them that way. He turns to them, keeping his face tight. "I appreciate you coming here. Thanks for the lovely talk."

When he lifts his hand to push his glasses up, Dallon snatches his wrist in a death grip and yanks his sleeve down so hard it rips. Brendon glares at him. "Dal, what the f-"

The rest of his words die in his throat when Dallon turns the inside of his wrist towards him. His heart stops, eyes wide and knees growing weak, and he can't feel anything under him.

Instead of a red line that has been sitting there for the past six years, it's already turned black in all its glory.

Once Dallon lets go of his wrist, he traces the line with his trembling finger. No way. _Impossible_. He pulls the sleeve back down and rubs the fabric against his skin furiously.

It's ink. It's just black ink. He probably spilled something at work or drew over the line with black pen. There's no way the line could have turned black. There's no way Patrick loves him back.

"It's Patrick, isn't it?" Spencer's soft voice breaks the silence in the room.

His breathing becomes short and rapid. He's going to _kill_ whoever playing this joke on him. This fucking cruel, cold, heartless joke. _Who the fuck thinks it's funny to mess with his feelings?_

"Brendon." This time Sarah speaks up, and she places her hand over his to stop his action. She pulls the sleeve down gently, showing his red skin rubbed raw.

But the black line is still there.

"N- No…" He stammers, voice choked with tears. Sarah's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes have begun to water. "Brendon…"

Patrick loves him.

He runs to the drawer beside his bed and pulls his phone out, quickly switching it on. The few seconds it takes for it to come to life feels like the longest seconds he's ever experienced, but it becomes faster when his phone beeps repeatedly, a slew of text messages rushing in. Most of them are from Patrick, and he clicks on them, his mind growing fraught the more he reads Patrick's stream of texts that he sent over the past few days.

_From: Patrick_  
_15:47:34_  
_My flight is this Saturday at 1pm. See you there_

_From: Patrick_  
_23:59:11_  
_You're coming to see me at the airport, right?_

_From: Patrick_  
_10:39:43_  
_Where are you? You're not at the apartment_

_From: Patrick_  
_09:12:11_  
_Are you reading my texts?_

_From: Patrick_  
_08:10:25_  
_Why did you turn off your phone?_

His throat tightens when he reads the texts Patrick sent just that morning a few hours ago.

_From: Patrick_  
_09:35:45_  
_I'm here at the airport. What time are you coming?_

_From: Patrick_  
_11:15:30_  
_Where are you? Dallon and Spencer are here_

_From: Patrick_  
_11:29:12_  
_B please come I really want to see you before I go_

Oh God. The last message was sent _less than an hour ago._

He lifts his head up to look at Dallon and opens his mouth, voice shaky. "Take me to the airport."

-

He sits tersely watching the second hand on his watch ticks on, his fingers digging into his seat and his toes curling with apprehension. He knows Dallon is driving as fast as he can, even breaking the speed limit, because they have less than half an hour to get to the airport before the flight leaves.

Before Patrick leaves.

"Brendon, we're going to make-"

"Don't." Brendon interrupts Sarah mid-sentence. "Don't say anything."

Don't jinx it.

The car ride is filled with a heavy, tense silence that no one dares to break it except for the humming of the engine and the air-conditioner. Brendon gulps at the time and looks out the window at the passing vehicles.

_12:35_

25 minutes. They can make it.

He looks around him when the car suddenly slows down to a stop.

"Oh, come on!" Brendon groans in frustration and slams the dashboard, making everyone jump at the sudden sound. They can't have a fucking traffic jam now!

No one says anything, but the traffic is moving so fucking slow that Brendon is tempted to yank the door open and run to the airport himself. He looks back at his watch, getting increasingly steamed up with each passing second.

_12:45_

Ten fucking minutes in the fucking jam. They have fifteen minutes to get to the airport, fifteen minutes to find the gate, fifteen minutes to get through the security.

He clenches his fist. He'll run until his lungs burn and his legs fall off if he has to.

Dallon steps on the gas, going on as fast as he can. His heart races in anticipation when the airport building comes into view. "Just drop me off anywhere."

The taller man nods, then Brendon turns around to look at Spencer in the back seat. "Do you know which gate Patrick's flight is?"

"Yeah." Spencer nods his head. "I'll lead you to it."

At exactly 12:55, they arrive at the drop-off point, and everyone but Dallon stumbles out of the car before rushing inside. Brendon and Sarah runs after Spencer in the heavy crowds of staff and passengers, bumping into them and elbowing their ways to the gate.

There are so many things going on around him that he just wants to curl up in somewhere quiet and take a breather or two, but he can't. Not right now. He needs to keep moving, even with the intercoms blaring out multiple announcements at the same time and the loud chatters by the adults and screams by the kids.

"It's F10!" Spencer shouts over the noise. Brendon nods, keeping his eyes on the signboard that states the gate number.

F8… F9… "There!"

Brendon sprints past Spencer to the security port that leads to the boarding gate. There's no line queuing up to the gate, and his heart sinks.

No, he can't think like that. Just because there's no line doesn't mean the flight has already taken off.

"Excuse me, Sir." The officer stops him before he can get through the metal detector. "Can I see your boarding pass?"

Brendon doubles over his knees as he pants, Spencer and Sarah coming up behind a few seconds later, both panting as well.

"I- I need to- to get to-" His lungs feel like they're about to collapse. He just needs to get through the security, and then he can see Patrick for the last time. "I need to see-"

"I'm sorry, but if you don't have a boarding pass, I'm afraid I can't-"

"Please!" Brendon begs the officer. There's no way he's backing down when he's already this far. "I need to see someone before he leaves! You can come with me or whatever, I just really need to see him!"

Time seems to drag when the officer shares a look with another fellow officer, and Brendon holds in his breath, praying that they let him go through. The officer turns to him. "Is he a family member?"

"N- No." Brendon stammers, his hand gripping at his own wrist with the mark, which doesn't go unnoticed by the officer. The officer has an understanding look flashing across her face before she nods. "Come with me."

They get to the boarding gate with the help of the officer, but as soon as they reach the gate, dread begins to fill him.

There's no one there.

He runs to the gate agent. Surely the door hasn't closed. "I need to get on the plane."

The gate agent looks up at him, smiling apologetically. "I'm sorry, but the gates are already closed."

No. The gate can't be closed. It's only - he checks his watch - ten minutes past one. _Fuck._ He dashes to the door and bangs on it with his fists. "Patrick!"

"Sir!" The security officer and Spencer pull him back, dragging him away from the closed door. Brendon jerks his arms away from them and runs back to the door, desperate.  
  
"Patrick!" Brendon shouts again before turning to the gate agent. "I need to get to him! Please get him-"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but the gate is already closed."

"Then open it back!" He snaps at her. "His name's Patrick Stumph. Please- just- I need to see him!"

"Sir," The gate agent says softly, "once the gates are closed, we can't open them back."

His throat closes up. "Can you check if the flight is still here?"

The gate agent nods, typing something on the monitor. Sarah stands beside him and rubs her hand on his back, attempting to calm him down. "Brendon…"

It takes almost a minute for the agent to finish typing, and when she looks up with her forehead creased, it feels like the whole world has stopped. "I'm sorry, but the flight has just departed."

"No." Droplets of tears have started to pool in his eyes. The flight can't- _Patrick can't-_ "No no no no. The flight is still here! Call him back! Tell the pilot to stop!"

"Brendon…" Spencer places a hand on his shoulder to pull him back, but Brendon flinches away from his touch violently and glares at him through his blurred vision. " _No!_ Patrick's still here! I can still see him! I can still-"

_He can still confess his feelings to Patrick._

Sobs begin to erupt from within him, and he drops to his knees, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes as hot tears begin to fall down his face.

That's it. Patrick's gone. _Just like that._

It's nothing like the time when Patrick went off to university. There are no promises of keeping in touch. No promises of seeing each other soon. No promises of anything.

Only black lines and broken hearts.

There's a pair of arms wrapped around him, he doesn't know who it is, but he just buries his face in their neck and hugs them back as he lets his sobs wrack his body.

He knows it's selfish of him to ask Patrick to get a flight back as soon as he reaches the airport, but he wants Patrick here, at least so they can say a proper goodbye. So _he_ can say a proper goodbye.

_"Bye, Patrick. Congratulations on your music programme and Pete."_

His sobs grow even louder as he recalls the moment when they were at the park. Those were his last words to Patrick, and they were said so coldly. He was so done with everything between them then. He was tired of dancing with himself. He just wanted to detach himself from it all and break Patrick's heart like Patrick did to him on so many occasions without the older man himself realizing it.

He pushed Patrick away when Patrick has been nothing but patient and there for him. He pushed Patrick away when he tried to gain control of his feelings. He pushed Patrick away when he's the one who told him to marry Pete. But Patrick was always there for him every time.

And now, Patrick isn't.

_"Bren?" Patrick crouched down to sit next to him under a tree at the playground and placed a hand on his knee. "Why are you crying?"_

_He dropped his hand from rubbing his eyes and looked up at the older boy through his tears. "I- I thought you left me."_

_"C'mere, Brenny." Patrick's soft voice called him, and he spread his arms. He immediately crawled into Patrick's lap, arms wrapped around the older boy's neck, and his sobs lessened into small hiccups when Patrick hugged him tight. "I would never leave you."_

_"T- Then," he stuttered through his hiccups, "w- where were you? You- you left me here a- alone."_

_Patrick pulled back a little, hand reaching into his pocket for something. Brendon wiped his tears away with his arm and got out of his lap to sit in front of him. His eyes widened when Patrick pulled out two lollipops with a smile and a triumphant_ 'ah!' _. "See? I went to buy this for us."_

_His small hand reached out to take one of the two lollipops sitting on Patrick's open palm. He couldn't believe that Patrick went out to buy candies for them. That Patrick didn't actually leave him. "Y- You weren't going to leave me?"_

_Patrick smiled and shook his head. "I'll never leave you, okay? I promise."_

_"Pinky swear?" Brendon meekly asked and held his pinky finger out in front of him. Patrick grinned, linking their pinkies together. "Pinky swear."_

"I'm sorry." He manages to croak out between his sobs. There are multiple hands on his back rubbing circles, but the action does nothing to calm him down. He just wants to crawl into Patrick's lap and his arms and let Patrick sing to him and _he just wants Patrick here._

If he did confess to Patrick at the park, and if he did tell Patrick to say no, maybe things wouldn't turn out this way. Maybe things would end up differently. Maybe they wouldn't have their hearts broken.

Maybe they would be happy.

He tightens his arms around the body hugging him, stifling his sobs as more tears continue to fall.

_"Say no to him, because I love you."_

* * *

Brendon looks up from his guitar when he hears a faint knock on his door, a small frown marring his face as his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose. It must be Dallon on the other side.

Dallon has been asking him to sub in for his guitarist for a few shows, and while he's flattered, he still can't get over his stage fright, especially when Dallon's band has gotten big and signed to a record company. The Brobecks has a larger fanbase since, so inevitably, they'd be playing at larger areas as opposed to small clubs.

He loves that tall guy to death, but unless he can make his jitters disappear, then he has to find another person to fill in.

He strums his guitar again when the knocking ceases. Good. Maybe this time Dallon will take the hint and go find someone else.

Sadly, the knocking resounds again. With a huff, he sets the guitar down gently on the couch before stalking over to the door. "Dallon, I fucking told you-"

"H- Hi."

The rest of his words die before they can get past his mouth when he sees who's in front of his door. There, in flesh and bones, in a pair of shoes, a pair of black skinny jeans, a white shirt with a denim jacket, a familiar large black-framed glasses and an unfamiliar fedora, stands _Patrick Martin Stumph._

Patrick.

Patrick is back.

Patrick is back standing in front of him.

Patrick is back standing in front of him after two years.

Before he can get over his shock, Patrick grabs his wrist. He still have one black line there. His eyes land on Patrick's fingers wrapped around him. He would've rubbed his eyes if Patrick hadn't grabbed his hand, but he just can't believe what he's seeing. He looks at Patrick's other hand for confirmation, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest when his observation is proven correct.

There's no ring on where it's supposed to be.

He looks back at Patrick's wrist, his breath taken away at what he finds. Instead of two black lines, he sees three.

Three, because the third one is _him._

"Are- are you seeing anyone?" Patrick asks, a faint blush covering his cheeks. Brendon licks his lips, still dazed. "Y- Yeah."

"O- Oh." Patrick's eyes widen slightly, Adam's apple bobbing as he drops their hands, then takes a step back. "Um. Okay. It's, um, it's nice talking to you again."

When Patrick turns around to leave, Brendon snaps out of his shock, finally noticing a large luggage and a backpack on the hallway floor. That's when he also notices Patrick's disheveled look- sweat glistening on his forehead and the back of his neck, one shoe lace untied, hair messy under his fedora.

Did Patrick rush straight to his place after he got off the plane?

His heart flutters as a smile makes its way on his face. He pulls Patrick back and into a hug, laughing. "I'm seeing _you._ You're the only one standing out here."

"Not funny, B." Patrick's deadpanned voice is muffled by his shirt, and he hits him on the chest before pulling away to look up at him. Brendon isn't willing to let go of him just yet; they haven't contacted each other in a little over two years, and a few seconds of hugging is just not enough to repay back for the lost time.

"Hold on."

Brendon watches as Patrick fumbles to take something out from the inside of his jacket, and his heart skips when he sees what it is. "Um, h- here. It's for you."

It's a daisy.

_A white fucking daisy._

"I, um-" Patrick stretches his hand out to give the flower to him, and he takes it carefully between his fingers, holding it as if it were going to shatter any second.

Patrick, with his cheeks and tips of the ears pink, clears his throat. " _And if you don't like me, as I do you, I understand. Because who would really choose a daisy in a field of roses?_ "

 _Holy shit._ That fucking poem. He remembers reading it when they were in a bookstore, and he can't believe that Patrick is _here_ , standing in the front of _his door_ , reciting a poem that he showed him _years_ ago.

And _literally_ gives him a daisy.

"I choose daisy." Patrick looks up at him, his whole face is blushing red down to his neck, but his eyes are hopeful blue. "I choose you, Brendon."

And just like that, everything becomes bright again, or bright _-er_ , in his eyes. Everything is colourful and beautiful, and he can hear a choir of angels singing up above for him. _For them._

"Fucking hell, Patrick." Brendon places his hands on Patrick's face and presses their lips together. Years and years' worth of pent-up emotions are put into the kiss, and he can feel Patrick's desperation, just like how he feels at the moment. It's fucking unbelievable.

It took him about half a year to get used to seeing the black line on his wrist, and even after that, it still feels foreign to him. The good kind of foreign. But it was constantly dampened at the thought of Patrick and Pete together in another continent, and his mind was bombarded with questions like _'Did they get married already?' 'Did Patrick reject Pete after they landed?' 'Did he change his mind?' 'Will Patrick ever come back?'_

Their kiss breaks with Patrick gasping for air, but Brendon chases his mouth back, slowly sliding his hands down to Patrick's hips, pulling their bodies together. He tilts his head, and when Patrick rests his hands on his arms and parts his lips, Brendon buzzes in delight at how perfect they fit together; lips on lips, body on body, hands on body. He can't wait to try out all the combinations.

God, it's the most wonderful thing he's ever felt.

When they finally pull away, Brendon wraps his arm around Patrick in a tight hug and laughs, his eyes beginning to wet with tears of joy. _He still can't believe this is happening._  "Patrick, what the fuck. I'm not a fucking Pokemon."

"I just recited a poem to you." Patrick grumbles, but he hugs him back just as tight. "Is that all you have to say?"

Brendon hums happily as he buries his face in the crook of Patrick's neck, deeply inhaling his airplane-and-coffee scent. He moves back just enough so he can kiss Patrick on the cheek. "Of course not."

He releases Patrick and cups his jaw, thumbs stroking his cheeks as he gazes into the blue orbs curiously looking up at him. Brendon smiles, resting his forehead against Patrick's, their lips almost touching. "Now you know who the red line was for. It's always been you."

He takes a deep breath. This is it. After eight years, he finally gets his chance. "I love you, Patrick."

Patrick rests his hands on his, turning his head slighly so he can kiss his palm, and his eyes soften. "I love you, Brendon."

Brendon almost misses the four words that he's been dying to hear had it not been the way Patrick's lips brushing against his when he utters them. His heart begins to beat so hard he can hear the beats like speakers in his ears.

"Close your eyes." Patrick whispers again, and Brendon obeys him. With his eyes closed shut, he can't see what Patrick is doing, but he can hear Patrick breathing shakily down his neck. He can feel Patrick's trembling hands tracing his face, pulling him down, pulling him close.

And then he feels Patrick's soft lips on his, pressing lightly. There's no heat or passion like before, just pure and innocent. He opens his eyes when Patrick pulls back a few seconds later, his hands dropping to his sides.

"I- I've always wanted to do that since that rainy day in the park." Patrick admits shyly, his cheeks turning pink again as he casts his gaze downward. Brendon stares at him, his eyes widening at the confession, and his chest flutters with a gazillion butterflies that he feels like bursting into pieces.

That means his eyes weren't playing tricks on him when he thought he saw the heartbroken look in Patrick's eyes.

That means his guts wasn't kidding when he thought Patrick wanted him to say no to Pete's proposal.

That means his heart wasn't lying when he thought Patrick felt something for him.

Brendon pulls him in for another kiss, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other holding him by the waist, and he licks at the seam of his lips, to which Patrick eagerly opens his mouth to. He can feel Patrick's warmth through the small distance between them, can hear his little gasps, can taste his moans, and, _fuck,_ if he had only trusted his instincts back then, he could have had this two years ago.

"Funny." Brendon chuckles after pulling away from the kiss and resting his forehead against Patrick's, both breathing heavily trying to catch their breath. "I've always wanted to do that since a long time ago."

Patrick makes a whining noise as he buries his face in Brendon's shirt. "Dumbass. You're a dumbass. I'm still mad at you for not coming to the airport."

Brendon smiles at the strawberry blond man in his arms. Of course Patrick won't let go of something that happened in the past. "Sorry, strawberry."

"Don't call me that." Patrick jabs him on the chest, but Brendon just laughs as he grabs his hand, tangling their fingers together and kissing his knuckles, liking the way Patrick's face turns red. Patrick turns his face to the other side, hiding the blush that Brendon adores so much.

"Your wish is my command, blondie."

Before Patrick can protest, Brendon picks him up and grins when Patrick demands him to put him down that instant. Brendon just ignores him, like he'd done so many times in the past, as he carries him to his aparment. Laughter bubbles up in his chest when Patrick's toes hit his shin.

"You need to start drinking milk more often, shortie." Brendon chortles and tightens his grip around Patrick's waist.

"You need to stop growing taller." Patrick mutters after giving up on fighting him, and he wraps his arms around Brendon's neck, hanging onto him and purposely kicking him in the shins with each step.

And, okay, even after they confessed their feelings to each other, Brendon loves that some things never change. "You need to stop being adorable."

"You need to stop lying."

"Okay, seriously, you need to stop that." Brendon drops him down on the couch, Patrick letting out a quiet _'oof!'_ in the process, and sits down on the coffee table, placing the daisy beside him where he's sure it won't get crushed. "I would've thought your self-esteem would go up after all these years."

"Sorry." Patrick sighs as he leans back on the couch, lifting his legs and resting them in Brendon's lap. "Reflex thing."

The corner of his lips quirks up a bit. He takes off Patrick's shoes and chucks them at the shoe rack, then cheers when one of them lands perfectly on it.

His attention shifts back to the smaller man in front of him when he hears a small chuckle. "I miss this."

"Yeah?" Brendon raises his eyebrow, amused. "Well, I miss _you_."

"Well, if you miss me," Patrick purrs, tugging him forward by the collar, and Brendon swallows in anticipation. Is this it? Are they really going to do it now? Do they have the stuff needed? Wait. Did he remember to clean his bedroom?

"Yeah?" He gasps when Patrick caresses the side of his face with his index finger before flicking his gaze up to meet his eyes, smirking. "Then you can get my stuff outside. I'm pretty tired."

Patrick rests back on the couch, groaning as he stretches his body and legs and yawns. "Thanks, B. I appreciate it."

Brendon stares at him in disbelief before a scowl takes over his features. "You're so lucky you're cute."

"I know." Patrick shoots him a quick grin before taking off his fedora and placing it on the table beside the daisy. Brendon sheakes his head fondly at the older man and goes to pick up the bags left outside.

He slings the backpack over his shoulder and rolls the luggage inside, placing the two in the living room. Patrick is already lying down on the couch, his head by the guitar, with an arm draped over his eyes and the other resting on his stomach, holding his glasses, his chest heaving up and down slowly. He must be tired, from the jetlag and the long plane ride and then rushing to his apartment.

Brendon sits down on the floor, admiring the older man napping in front of him. After two years apart, Patrick looks slightly different than how he remembers. His hair is now styled with side-swept bangs. He even wears a _fedora_ , which he's never worn before. Trucker hats and knit caps, yes. Fedoras, no.

His gaze wanders over Patrick's form, eyebrows raised in a mixture of surprise and worry. Patrick also looks thinner than before.

"You know, you're so small now, I could just, like, pick you up by the neck like a kitten and carry you to my room."

Patrick groans and shifts his position so he's lying on his side with an arm folded under his head to look at him. "You mean _my_ room."

"Well, it's been mine since you moved out." Brendon counters.

"Well, it's going to be mine again now that I'm moving back in."

"Really?" He doesn't bother to hide the excitement in his voice. "You're moving in?"

Patrick laughs softly and nods. "Yes, B. Unless you'd rather me find someplace else?" His tone changes into a worried one towards the end.

"Hey, no," Brendon says softly, taking the glasses in Patrick's hand and placing it on the table before he clasps their hands together. "I would very much love for you to live here. As cheesy as it sounds, I don't want to spend another day without you. Not since…"

He trails off into a silence, looking down at where their fingers are intertwined together. Not since the day at the park.

Patrick squeezes their hands together and sits up, pulling Brendon to sit beside him. "Even after we got on the plane, I kept looking back, you know. Hoping that you'd run through. Hoping to see you."

When Patrick pauses, Brendon lifts his head to look at him. He's chewing on his bottom lip, and there's a faraway look in his eyes. "There's a moment where I didn't want to get on the plane. But Dallon and Spencer convinced me to get on it, and they told me they'd bring you to the airport. So, I waited…

"But it's already time for me to go. I had to get on the plane. And, I don't know, I felt- I felt- it's nothing like the time when I had to leave for university." Then, he lifts his gaze to meet Brendon. "Nothing like the time when we stopped talking. It's like- like…"

Brendon swallows, feeling a small lump in his throat. "Like heartbreak?"

Patrick nods after a moment and casts his gaze back down. "It wasn't until the plane got off the ground that I saw the black line."

So neither of them really knew when they got the black line. Judging from Patrick's story, it seems like he found out about it first, courtesy of Dallon. Patrick, on the other hand, found out much later after the plane took off.

The line could appear before Dallon and Spencer arrived at Sarah's, or it could be when they were arguing. But everything was too late.

"What did you tell Pete?" He asks, turning Patrick's wrist over and tracing over the new black line with his thumb. Patrick chuckles. "He's… fine. He's sad, but he's fine. And he did stay for a couple of months until I got used to living there, then he flew back here. He's a good friend like that."

Are they still getting married, though? Or are they already married? The questions have been clawing at the back of his mind the moment he saw Patrick's ringless finger. What if Patrick took off his ring before he got there?

So far, everything that has been happening is just too good to be true. He'd rather be disappointed now than later. "Is- is the wedding still on?"

"Brendon…" He squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself for the answer that's about to come. His eyes snap open when he feels a soft and brief press of Patrick's lips on his. "We broke it off, B."

"R- really?" Brendon gapes; he can't believe what his ears are hearing. "So, you're single? Unattached? Available? Eligible?"

"Yes, you chocolate. I'm all of the above." Patrick laughs and strokes his cheek, Brendon leaning into his touch with a dopey grin. Then, he's struck with an amazing idea.

He's a romantic cheesy fuck at heart, and nothing will change that.

He slides down to the floor on one knee and holds Patrick's hands, grinning up at his pink face. "Then, will you be the strawberry to my chocolate?"

"Yes." Patrick smiles and pecks him lightly. "I will be the strawberry to your chocolate."

If they were in a movie or a cartoon, the fireworks would go off by now, and there would be a massive musical number with him and Patrick dancing together before it ends with them kissing with a beautiful sunset as the background. And after the credits have finished rolling, there would be a clip of them saying their vows.

"Now go get me something to drink."

Or not.

Brendon pouts and heaves himself up to go the kitchen as Patrick goes back to sit on the couch. "You're so bossy."

"I'm not bossy." Patrick calls out from the living room. Brendon chuckles and begins preparing iced tea for them. After he's gathered all the ingredients, he pinches himself on the arm, hissing at the pain. That's as real as it can be.

It still feels surreal that Patrick's here with him. That Patrick's back. That he finally, _finally_ confessed to Patrick.

That they're officially together now, romantically.

Who would've thought that after almost ten years, they would be here?

Certainly not them, except for Sarah, maybe. He huffs out in amusement as he stirs the drink. Sarah is going to have a field day when he tells her the news.

He balances a jugful of iced tea and two glasses in his hands and walks back into the living room, finding Patrick with an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at his phone in his hands. His heart jumps to his throat when the audio comes from speaker, colour draining from his face.

_"With the power invested in me, I now pronounce you taller brat and shorter brat. You may annoy one another."_

_"We're married, babe! Patricia! I'm your son-in-law now!"_

He gulps. He forgot about the video.

Quickly rushing over to Patrick, he places the jug and the glasses down on the table before sitting nervously beside Patrick, who still hasn't said a word after the video has finished playing. "You, um, you weren't supposed to watch that."

"Brendon." Patrick puts down his phone and twists his body so they're facing each other, and leans into him, forehead resting on Brendon's shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't notice before," he murmurs. "I feel so shitty."

Brendon sighs and embraces the other man. "They're just Sinatra's lyrics. You just wait until you hear the real one I've prepared. I'm gonna sing the entire discography."

Patrick chuckles softly, the sad atmosphere disappearing, and pulls away from him only to reach for the daisy lying on the table. He picks it up, gazing and twirling the flower in his hand. "Do you know what a white daisy represents?"

"What?" Brendon asks.

"Purity. Innocence." Patrick continues to twirl the flower. Then, he looks up at Brendon, his face softening with a pink blush and a small smile. "Loyal love."

"You've done your homework, haven't you, strawberry?" Brendon pokes fun at the older man as he takes the flower and tucks it neatly behind Patrick's ear, who scowls up at him. Even with a sour face, Patrick still looks adorable with a flower behind his ear.

"The flower's for _you_ , not for me."

Brendon smiles and places his finger under Patrick's chin, remembering the sentence he said to Patrick back at the bookstore like it was yesterday. "I know. But I'd pick you over any flowers. Anytime."

"Even if they're from me?"

"You know what, if they're from you, I'll make an exception." He leans down until their noses brush together, and whispers, "I'll pick both. I'll water the flower every day, and I'll love you every day, I promise."

He can see Patrick's eyes shining brightly at him, the corner of his eyes crinkling from the beautiful smile he has on his face, and everything just falls into place. The years where he's still trying to figure out his feelings for his best friend, the years where he'd accepted his feelings for his best friend, and the years where he's having difficulties with his feelings for his best friend all lead him up to this point, where his best friend also returns his feelings and is here with him. Near him. Beside him.

No longer apart.

Patrick places his lips over his softly in a chaste kiss. "I've never doubted you."

And he will never give Patrick a reason to.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really proud of this, and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Ps I wrote the rainy scene to Roses playing in the background, and the airport scene to Like This. They _really_ helped to set the scenes right!
> 
> Please leave comments and tell me what you think :)
> 
> (Also I am obsessed with Panic's cover of Starboy omg)


End file.
